Sherlock Holmes and The Black Scale
by ionitamircea32
Summary: My first story. When Sherlock Holmes solves the case of a gentleman found dead in Beehive Row, He condemns a young wealthy fighter. But he believes that there is more to this case than there first seems. Review please! *prologue has been removed* Important: IF REVIEWING DOES NOT WORK, PM ME
1. Chapter 1-A Rude Client

Out of all the cases which my good friend, Sherlock Holmes has solved, I cannot think of one more peculiar than the "Case of The Black Scale", as Holmes insisted that I should name this happening. It is such a complex case, that I had to persuade Holmes, as well as the young man whom was more or less our client to give their own accounts of the story.

It was a bright cold morning in February, and my friend was sitting in his favorite armchair, smoking his favorite pipe, reading the Times.  
>He was very much unhappy and I perfectly knew why; He hadn't had a case for a fortnight, and the "Crimes" column in the Times was nothing more than a string of petty thefts and illegal cockfighting clubs being busted.<p>

However, this meant that he didn't have to think about anything deeply, which is why, much to Mrs. Hudson's content, Holmes didn't skip meals anymore. Sometimes he would starve himself for days when he was working on a case. "I cannot spare the nervous power for digestion when I am working on difficult cases" He would explain.  
>Shortly after our breakfast, Mrs. Hudson came in to take the dishes and to give my friend a calling card of a gentleman who would be arriving shortly. "Daniel Marker, ship's captain" read the calling card. Holmes looked very cautiously at the card and said to me "Watson have you ever heard of graphology?" "Yes, the analysis of handwriting to determine one's personality" "Precisely, Watson, and this calling card was not made in a printing press, but was written by this man himself." I glanced at the card, and it was indeed handwriting, not printed letters. "The lower part of the D and the C indicate a high intellect, the coarseness and pressure of the writing indicate a very strong right arm, but the slant of the writing indicate incredible narcissism, a complete lack of empathy, and even insanity" said Holmes gritting his teeth.<p>

As used as I was to my friend's power of deduction, these conclusions surprised me so much that I couldn't help but ask him about it. But I didn't have time to ask him about it, for in the next moment footsteps were heard, definitely from our would-be client. The door opened, and in it's frame was a most unusual man. He had a black complexion, and his face was covered in scars of all shapes and sizes. Despite the fact that he had a hunched back, he was still at least 6'4''. His shoulders were very broad and he had very muscular arms and was wearing an elegant black suit.  
><span><br>Holmes: As soon as I laid eyes on this man, I knew that he was not to be trusted; he spoke in an intentionally deep and whispered voice, which indicated that he was trying to intimidate me, the fact that he had refused to take a seat and instead stood up to his full height was also strengthening my theory. His large hands were covered in gloves, but I could make out that his left arm was slightly deformed; a peg-arm. The fact that he had distinctive sea-faring complexion and that he had so many scars, meant only one thing-piracy. And a filthy pirate at that. Judging by the large pores on his chin, he used to have a very long beard, which he had recently shaved. His hair, too, seems to have been very long; and in dreadlocks.

"Mr. Holmes" he said to me in a low, whispery voice "I have heard of your incredible mental abilities, yes truly impressive stories. But you have only used your abilities to help common rabble, not for a grander purpose, not for the better of the world, and not for, heh heh, large amounts of money" As he said this he put a large wallet on the table "400 pounds, if you take my case, there's more where that came from" He said with a grin.

I gave him back the coldest look that I could muster (and I am good with facial expressions) and told him "Mr. Marker, or whatever your name is, for I know this is not your real name, one of the greatest advantages of being a consulting detective is that I get to choose my clients. Please take this 'job' of yours to someone who is stupid enough not to ask questions. You expect me to take the money and comply to whatever you ask me to do. If you truly have heard of me, then you know that I am not stupid. You come in, you don't tell me what concerns you, you try to bribe me, insult my clients, and expect me to comply like a dog simply because you offer me money. I will not take your case. Have a nice day."  
>This made his grin turn into a snarl and he yelled like a lion "If you do not do it, you'll regret it, you hear me !?" and grabbed me by the collar.<br>  
>Watson<span>: I could take this no longer; I took my gun from the drawer, cocked it and pointed it at our rude visitor.  
>"If you do not leave this instant, sir, I will call the police; there's always a constable beneath our window." He turned to me like a rabid dog and looked at my gun; clearly he was thinking to tackle me.<br>But before he could do this, Holmes cocked his own revolver. In the meantime, Mrs. Hudson made her way into the room and looked at the scene terrified. Holmes, with the most determined look his shiny green eyes could give, said to our landlady "Mrs. Hudson, please lead this 'gentleman' outside"

Our visitor was breathing like a cornered beast and looked at our pistols, possibly thinking how to disarm us. He then grabbed the wallet he had placed on the table and went outside in hard steps, while staring at our poor landlady. The woman became as white as paper and was shaking like a leaf. Holmes quickly went to her and placed his long thin fingers on her shoulders and looked in her eyes with such goodness, that she almost instantly stopped shaking. It was hard to believe that the emerald eyes which made a frightened old woman calm down, were the same eyes that could make a man like that "Mr. Marker" run out of the house. "Did you see his eyes Mr. Holmes?" she stuttered "If there is a demon on this earth, then it's him! Ah, I'll have nightmares tonight!" and as she said this she started sobbing. Holmes poured her a cup of tea and told her to go for a relaxing walk. My friend also had an utmost talent of calming people.  
>While Mrs. Hudson left for her walk, Holmes showed me the name on the calling card. "Notice how 'Daniel Marker' is written. A man of such narcissism would write his own name in a floral manner, yet it is written quite normally. It is not his real name."<p>

He spent some time analyzing the calling card, but after a while, he returned to his bored stance, smoking, reading stacks of newspapers, playing the violin or practicing boxing on his heavy bag. Suddenly, a noise of footsteps on the stairs made him drop his newspaper. "It's Lestrade" he grinned. "Finally, something to break the monotony! Every time Lestrade has consulted me, it was for a difficult case; he has too high an ego to ask for help unless he absolutely needs it" Indeed, in the next moment, the small framed inspector entered our rooms.

"Good Morning, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson" he greeted. "A murder has been committed this morning; it is so mysterious that we preferred if you took the case" "How mysterious, Lestrade?" my friend inquired. "The victim is one Adam Mortimer, a privateer's ship captain. A respectable Norwegian gentleman who has recently retired in London with a small fortune. He was found dead this morning in some dump of a street called Beehive Row. There are signs of struggle, but no fatal wound. His wallet still had 43 pounds and valuable bond certificates, so robbery couldn't have been the motive." Holmes jumped from his chair and said "A gentleman found in a bad neighborhood, not a robbery, no fatal wound, no eye-witnesses. That's for us. Inspector hold a cab for us and give us 10 minutes to get ready"


	2. Chapter 2-The Crime

Watson: And so, in less than the time Holmes had predicted, we were in a cab headed for Beehive Row.

During our ride the inspector explained the murder in detail: "The alarm was raised by a certain Mr. Webber. He heard sounds of fighting outside his window, but thought nothing of it, for that blasted street is always the stage for drunken brawls. However, the dialogue before the fight is interesting, to say the least: '-Ah, you're late. Are you Martin?  
>-Yes and no, don't you recognize me?<br>- You, you dog!  
>-Enough! I know that you were and are part of his crew. He made you a lieutenant. You must hate him as much as we do. We tried to reason with him, but he is mad, he wouldn't see reason. I know the way he treats his lieutenants, Eret told me about it. Join us and we shall treat you with honor. But I cannot let you do his bidding, either, so you have no choice.<br>-Are you threatening me, you twig?! You will die just like your father!'

Afterwards, he heard sounds of blows, snarls and curses. As for the speech, he thought it was just drunken ramble. After a while he heard a sound like a match being struck and a terrible scream. Afterwards he heard the assailant running off."

"A personal motive, and it seems that the murderer and the victim knew each other." Said Holmes thoughtfully. "I suppose there were marks of violence?" I inquired.  
>"Yes", responded Lestrade. "A black eye, broken nose, and a ripped jacket. However, these wounds are rarely fatal, and the victim was built as solid as an oak. He most certainly wouldn't be killed by these simple blows."<br>"What about the sound of a match being struck?" inquired Holmes. "I don't know. Maybe it was someone nearby smoking, or one of his neighbors."

In a little bit of time we arrived in one of the worst neighborhoods in London. Drunkards were lying on the side of the road, singing rude songs and almost every building was boarded up. There were a couple of dirty looking pubs, both full of drunkards fighting and swearing. I was thankful that I had remembered to take my revolver with me.  
>After walking through some alleys, we reached one alley that was equally filthy, but much quieter. Constables were covering some portion of it, waving off any curious passer-by.<p>

Holmes: As soon as we approached the crime scene a constable barged into us and said "Nothing to see, sir, move along  
>-Hello, Constable Marrow.<br>-Mr. Holmes? Ah, Mr. Lestrade, finally! The body is over there, Mr. Holmes."

Right behind the constable was a large man lying flat in the middle of the street. He was at least 6 feet tall and was wearing a gentleman's suit. His biceps were like logs and must have had a shoe size of at least 9 and a half. He indeed had a black eye and the nose was broken. His face was distorted with hatred and pain. He was in his 50's, yet he had a herculean appearance. A sea-faring complexion, which confirmed that he was a privateer's captain. His large hands were callused, which meant that he sometimes helped his crew with the ship, an easy-going boss.  
>I then turned my attention to the ripped jacket. Some of the buttons for it were scattered around him; it was ripped during a grapple attack. However, it was folded in a strange way. By uncovering one part of it, it revealed his bare chest, covered in scars.<br>One of the scars, right in the middle was larger, longer and redder than all of the others. I then sensed a strange, faint smell; burning. Why would there be a burning smell? I then looked inside his pockets. In one of them was the wallet which Lestrade mentioned, in the other was an envelope. It had already been opened.

I took it and it read "Dear Mr. Adam. I have been informed about the fact that the lieutenants that formerly worked for the man whose name I dare not mention, but I'm sure you know it, are hiring again. I was in the service of him, too. Life in London doesn't suit me, I'd like to join again. It's too risky to meet in public. There's a small, abandoned dump of an alley called Beehive Row. I shall meet you there Tuesday at 9:30 AM. Be there. Martin Barbera"  
>"It is very likely that the man who wrote this letter and the murderer are one and the same" I deduced aloud. Then I turned my attention to the large chest scar. It was warm to the touch. A faint burning smell, the sound of a match being struck and a warm wound went together. The murderer had used a burning weapon! A tempered knife, perhaps, or a piece of sharp burning wood. A "perfect" murder- the wound caused by the heated weapon would be cauterized and easily mistaken for a scar.<p>

But the murderer wouldn't have had time to light his weapon during the heat of combat, and he most certainly couldn't have carried it in his pocket! "Lestrade, I have found the fatal wound!" I cried. "Where, Mr. Holmes?!" he inquired excited, his small mouth widening to the edges of his cheeks. I pointed to the "scar". "-Huh? But that's an old scar!  
>-On the contrary, Lestrade. It is warm to the touch, and when you put it together with the fact that the witness had heard a match strike before the scream, it means that it came from a burning weapon.<br>-Aha, yes, of course!" he cried on a tone almost as if he had made that discovery. After examining every corner of the filthy street I didn't come up with much. There were no visible footprints, no clothes of the assailant ripped off. However, a closer inspection of the wound curve revealed that it was caused by the blow of a left hand.

I then turned my attention to the old man leaning against the entrance frame of a shabby apartment block. He was the witness. He was in his early 60's, short and stout. He needed support, therefore he was obviously walking with a limp. The round scar on his neck was caused by a bullet. I quickly realized, from it's size that it was not a revolver bullet, but a rifle, from long range. A war veteran. His red palms quickly told me of what war. In India, where it is so hot that the soldiers improvised sun protection cream out of plants, however since the cream was very poor quality, it caroused the palms when they tried to apply it. "-Good, day to you. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I trust you are Mr. Webber?  
>-Yes, that's me. So, you're Sherlock Holmes, the great detective! Ah, the days of that blasted murderer are numbered" he said with a smirk.<br>"-Indeed they are. Can you tell me anything more specific about what you heard? -Well, I heard Inspector Lestrade told you all about it.  
>-Even the smallest details are important. Concentrate, Mr. Webber.<br>-Wait, now that you mention it, shortly after the deathly scream I heard the murderer running off, quite fast, it didn't take long before I couldn't hear his footsteps any more. And one step sounded louder than another. It was one loud step, then a lighter step. And during the dialogue, the murderer's voice sounded younger.  
>-Did the light step, or the heavy step come first?<br>-Umm, my memory's not what it used to be. Wait, the first step was the louder one, I'm sure of it!  
>-Thank you Mr. Webber, you've been of the utmost assistance." I said smiling.<p>

This was rather interesting. The different footsteps indicate that the assailant is crippled, yet at the same time he was able to defeat a Goliath of a man, and run off quickly. I decided that there was nothing left to deduce from the crime scene. I have already deduced that the murderer is strong, or at least very well trained. He has a missing leg, but it was amputated ankle-down, at the most, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to run quickly. But the burning weapon still remained a mystery. How was he able to light a weapon while fighting for his life? He couldn't have carried it in his hand, for it would have been too conspicuous. He hadn't attacked the victim with the fire weapon first, for it would have burned his clothing, hence he first tried and ripped the victim's jacket and shirt. He had hoped that by doing so, it would look like he was killed in a drunken brawl. But, he didn't expect the old building nearby to be lived in. The killer is young, strong, or at least trained, and he is left-handed. Since the heavy foot was the one he used first, it must be that his left foot is the one damaged. He also has access to some sort of fast-lighting concealable flaming melee weapon. This narrowed down our search considerably.

"-Watson, let us return to Baker Street. This crime is perfectly trivial, although the killer was ingenious, so ingenious in fact, that I still do not understand one side of the story; the sharp fire knife. He couldn't have carried it here.  
>-He lit his weapon while the opponent was stunned, then?<br>-Perhaps, but if that is the case, then it changes a lot of things. This is a problem of… about 6 pipes. Feel free to eat my lunch. I cannot spare the nervous power for digestion."


	3. Chapter 3- The Suspect

Watson: After our investigation of the crime scene, I had to go to my office, for I had several appointments which I could not postpone.  
>Holmes went back to Baker Street and instructed Mrs. Hudson to not serve him anything until he had said so.<p>

When I returned I found Holmes in his armchair smoking one of his pipes. He had smoked so much that there was more fog in the room than on the streets. "I suspect you stayed like this all day long." I said.

"-Not at all, Watson, in fact I sought the help of chemists, weapon smiths and scientists, not to mention sending my Irregulars to search for men fitting the description of the murderer.  
>-Scientists and weapon smiths? Why would you need them?<br>-To reproduce the murder weapon." As he said this he picked up a grey metallic tube from his desk.  
>"The criminal mind can be most ingenious. In order to reproduce the weapon we used the principle of an American invention called 'the lighter', which is expected to replace matches in a few years. Watch this, Watson."<p>

He then pressed a button on the tube and a long flame came out of it. I thought it would start burning uncontrollably, but instead it remained on the tube.  
>He swung it a couple of times dangerously close to the furniture and then switched it off.<br>"What in the world was that, Holmes?"  
>"The blade is coated with a flammable liquid. When I press the switch, it makes a spark and lights it. When I press it again, it snuffs away the flame and retracts the blade. It is a hot weapon, for a cold blooded murderer. It is concealable, it does not even look like a weapon, and any wound caused by it is cauterized and easily mistaken for a scar if it is not found soon.<br>Now, my Irregulars have pointed me to a more respectable pub, in fact it is more of a gentleman's club. They host fights every night and recently there has been a young cripple fighting. He is known for the fact that he uses his metal leg as an advantage rather than a flaw. He fits the portrait, now let's get to him and see if he is the murderer."

In a few short moments we were in a cab headed for the "Cane and Mitts" public house. It was a pleasant view after the dreadful neighborhood which we had to search in the morning. It was in a rather more privileged part of London. Despite the fact that cabs passed through here at regular intervals, the streets were scrupulously clean.  
>All of the buildings were clean and cheerful, the little businesses like the tobacconist, chemist, physician's office, bakery were all booming. The people around here were all well dressed and were all carrying the arsenal of the gentleman: a walking stick, a top hat and gloves were not missing from any passer-by.<p>

When we arrived at the club, we were led into the cloakroom where we left our hats and canes. Holmes asked the attendant if we were allowed to enter the fighter's locker room. He naturally refused, but a silver sovereign quickly changed his mind. Holmes looked carefully at the lockers and eventually stopped at one with the name "Haddock" inscribed on it.  
>Holmes took out his "toolkit" and quickly picked the simple lock.<br>Inside of it was a strange garment, a leather helmet which matched the color and style of the garment.  
>"How peculiar, Watson" he exclaimed as he took out the garment. It was made out of hardened red and black leather, with multiple buckles and pockets attached to it. Hanging by the sleeves were two pieces of fabric. When Holmes stretched them, they oddly resembled wings. There were also carvings of mythical creatures on the leather. There was also a red button in the middle. When Holmes pressed it, it made a fin come out of the back.<p>

"Why on earth would he be wearing an outfit like this?" I asked.  
>"A very pertinent question, Watson. The leather is strong enough to deflect a blunt blade. And why are there wings on it?"<br>As he put the strange garment away, something fell out of it. Holmes quickly picked it up and examined it. It was a black round coin-shaped object.  
>"What is this? A semiprecious stone?" I asked.<br>"No, Watson it is way too light. And it is not the same material as the garment, so it was likely something that stuck on it."

He then turned his attention towards a tube-shaped object in the locker. It had holes at both ends, and one of the ends was carved so as to look like a crocodile's maw. Holmes, with a look of excitement on his face said. "Watson, I am almost certain that this is-"

But before he could finish his sentence we were interrupted by sounds of footsteps, and Holmes quickly threw the object back in the locker, closed it, and we ran out the other door. When Holmes closed the door, we heard someone enter the locker room. Holmes knocked on the door and it was opened by a young man. This man was in his early 20's with handsome features, dressed like a perfect gentleman in a black suit with red tie. He was tall and rather thin. His hair was quite long and tied at it's ends. He had piercing green eyes which resembled Holmes's own eyes. He also had a small scar on his chin. But his most striking feature was his left leg. It had been replaced ankle down by an iron peg leg with pretty complex looking levers and springs. As a field medic in Afganistan I had seen plenty of amputees and peg legs, but never one that looked like that.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked.  
>"Good day to you. My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and partner Dr. Watson. We would like to ask you some questions.<br>-The great detective? Himself? Are you working on a case, Mr. Holmes?  
>-Yes, I suppose you could say that. The librarian next door has had a most valuable manuscript stolen last night and he has hired me. What's your name?<br>-My name is … Hector Haddock.  
>-Have you seen anyone near the library after closing time?<br>-No, I stayed here all day long.  
>-I observed that you have a passion for horse riding.<br>-Horse riding? Ah, yes, of course! You looked at my fingers didn't you?  
>-Yes. How long have you been practicing this noble sport?<br>-Over 5 years now.  
>-Really? I would have put at least ten. And your other passion outside horse riding is blacksmithing and you make your own saddles. Burn marks on the back of your right hand, where the sparks have fallen, which also indicates that you are left handed, since you held the metal with your right hand.<br>-You really are as clever as they say!  
>-And that?" inquired Holmes pointing at his peg leg.<br>"-Horse riding accident  
>-It must have been terribly painful.<br>-As a matter of fact, it wasn't. I went unconscious, and by the time I had woken up, they had already put on my leg. Excuse me, but I have to change, the fight starts in 10 minutes. You can watch me in the fight hall, if you so choose.  
>-You're a fighter? With a peg leg and a, no offense, rather thin build?<br>-I am trained, Mr. Holmes. If you kick someone with an iron leg, it is rather painful" he said with a smirk.

Then, as Holmes and Haddock were standing next to each other, it struck me: Holmes and Haddock looked very much alike! There was, of course, the notable age difference; Holmes was a bit taller and their hair was quite different, but that was it. Same tall, thin build, same sharp chin, same piercing green eyes, same long thin fingers.  
>"Incredible" I murmured.<br>"What is it Dr. Watson?" the young man asked with a puzzled look.  
>"You two look very much alike, like a father and his son!" I don't know what I had said, but it upset him. Just as he looked like he was going to cry he said "I… think you should leave. Watch me fight if you wish. Tell Hetson at the door to lead you to the fight hall."<br>And so we got out. "Interesting" Holmes whispered. "He has obviously lost his father recently, and Hector is not his real name; did you notice how he slightly stuttered when he said his first name, but said his last name coherently. Remember how the ear-witness said that he had heard the victim yell 'you will die like your father'? Well, first let us watch him fight, I sense that we will learn something from watching him."

We were led to a small stage by Hetson and sat down at our pointed seats. The arena looked a lot like a small circus, with sand on the floor, and round edges. Then a small, tuxedo wearing man went to the center and announced "Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the main event of the Cane and Mitts public house. Tonight we have strength versus skill. On my left, the giant from Whitechapel, the Brick Wall, Rob Maillet!"  
>This announcement was followed by cheers and claps. The announcer then signaled the crowd to stop and continued "On my right, the Leg of Steel, the Norwegian Storm, already perfect record of 5-0, Hector Haddock!"<br>This was followed by equally excited cheers and claps. Then, out of the left archway came a large, broad shouldered man wearing nothing but trousers and boxing tape. Out of the right arch, was our young friend, wearing the peculiar outfit which we had found in his locker as well as his strange helmet. Despite not being as large as his opponent, his black outfit and mask made him equally intimidating.

Haddock: The large man looked at me mockingly as the referee explained the rules.  
>Before I knew it the bell rang and he quickly lunged at me with a fast jab to my chin. The blow made me see white, but I quickly ducked and weaved to his left to dodge and counter.<br>My left hand sunk in his ribs, making him grunt in pain. I went away from him, the pain from my chin becoming more powerful.  
>With a yell of rage, a feral haymaker glanced my left cheek. I responded with an elbow block and an iron leg to his knee.<br>He stumbled and almost fell, but then grabbed me and threw me across the ring before I could do anything. He then kicked me in the ribs before I could get up.

It was so hard I yelled in pain and tears of agony began to form as the pain covered not just my ribs, but my entire body.  
>But I get up, much to everyone's surprise, including my own. At this point, the heavy kick affected his footwork, so I attacked him with haymakers and left kicks which he could not dodge.<br>All of my seven blows hit their target, and makes him fall. I quickly sit on him and pound his face with the left hand. The referee then yelled to get off. Even though I did so, he couldn't get up anymore.

Thank goodness for the extra sparring with Astrid and Eret! Father would have certainly been proud, defeating a behemoth like that, in less than one round!  
>I certainly am stronger than I thought. And, of course, it's good that I was seasoned in these fights, otherwise I wouldn't have stood a chance against Adam this morning! But, then I have once again failed to find a diplomatic solution, was war and violence really the only answer?<p>

Why am I thinking of this now, it's now time to collect my winnings! But first, I help my opponent up and compliment him on the good fight. He looked rather surprised; he's never had an opponent help him up after being defeated! Before I left, I wanted to impress the crowd once more, this time with Fireblade. My ribs and chin ache, but I bury the pain and rush to the locker room to collect it.

Watson: I whistle in astonishment. "Those were some impressive moves, Holmes. He has good footwork for an amputee." The young man then returned to the arena, with a tube-shaped object in his hand. It was the thing that Holmes wanted to analyze before being interrupted. It then made a sound like a match being struck and it lit, much like I had seen Holmes's improvised weapon earlier. He then swung it above his head and around him. The crowd cheers and claps. He then used the other end of the weapon to spray some green gas around him. He then lights the gas, which burns away, leaving him unharmed. The crowd cheers again.  
>Holmes whispers in my ear "That is our man, Watson, contact Lestrade, I shall apprehend him myself after he leaves." <p>

* * *

><p><em>So, what do you think? This was my first fight scene I had ever written, so sorry if it was too short or boring. Feedback,please!<em>


	4. Chapter 4- The Arrest

Haddock: "Well, they aren't broken, not even cracked." Said the doctor as he changed another cold compress over my chin.

"Although Rob here got his jaw fractured and I don't like the way his knee is swelling."

Rob looked at me with both respect and friendliness; it was difficult to believe that we nearly killed each other mere minutes ago.

"-That's the first time I had to go the infirmary in 6 months. You're stronger than you look, lad. But you really should have seen that kick to the ribs coming.  
>-Oh, I did see it coming all right, I've never seen someone so big move so fast.<br>-How'd you manage to get such good footwork with a bum leg?  
>-I made the leg myself. It has multiple springs and levers which compensate for the fact that it's severed ankle-down. I could explain it's mechanics for hours, but I'm sure I'd bore you.<br>-That's right, you would" he joked.

"After someone beats me I usually buy them a drink, but Doc Hansom here said I'm not moving until he's seen my leg.  
>-Right, look I gotta go now, I am leaving for vacation in Suffolk, tonight." As soon as I went through the door, a tall bearded man bumped into me and apologized on a tone which made me think that he was drunk.<p>

Holmes: I went to Baker Street to disguise myself (when I went out of my room disguised Watson had thought that a vagrant had wondered into our apartment!) and went to the small dispensary near the pub.

I knew that he would be going there after the fight, there is always a minor trauma doctor on duty on afternoons, when they host fights.  
>I knew that Watson would get Lestrade, but I had also deduced that Haddock was going away from London tonight.<br>There was a small suitcase above his locker, which Watson didn't find worthy of mentioning, and the small outline in his pocket meant he had a piece of paper in it. One look at the corner of paper that was coming out of it and I deduced that it was a train ticket.

Because he hadn't taken it out of his pocket and into his locker meant that he wished to use it immediately after he left the pub. The only train leaving immediately after the fight and that was in a train station close enough for a quick getaway was for Suffolk.

I delayed him by bumping into him when he left the infirmary. I then went for a shortcut to intercept him at Tyson Street where I had deduced that he would be crossing.

I placed myself on a corner and waited for him to show up. There he was.

_Plan of attack: First point of attack, his right ribs at which he has already suffered trauma. Stunned, will attempt quick jab at face level, dodge; he will follow up with left kick at ankle level, trip him over; kick to the face before he can get up. In summary: ribs cracked, nose broken, unconscious in 10 seconds. _

Haddock: I cut through Tyson Street in order to reach the station faster. Then, the same bearded man who bumped into me as I had left the pub appeared and said in a familiar voice: "It's over, Haddock, you are under arrest for the murder of Adam Mortimer. You can come quietly"

I felt as if an ice knife stabbed my stomach. It was Sherlock Holmes disguised! Had he already found out? Oh, no, if he takes me I'll serve life imprisonment in the best case scenario! Who would lead the helm then? I'll spend the rest of my life in a British prison, away from those I care about.

I knew that it would serve me right for not being more diplomatic with "Adam"and even killing him, but he attacked me! No, it cannot end like this! If I can escape Holmes and reach the rendezvous point alive, I'll reach Berk, never to be seen again in London.

I I knew that speaking with him would be pointless; his brilliant mind has found me and won't let go of me.  
>I quickly throw a left jab. He dodges and punches my right ribs. The pain comes back stronger than ever, but I can't back down. I jab again, he dodges again, a sudden kick might change the tide!<p>

But it dosen't; he trips me and I fall. I try to get up, but he kicks me in the face.

The street goes blurry and all I can hear is ringing. It's over. My home and my people are defenseless without me. After Berk, who knows what next place will fall?

No, this isn't going to end like this!

I suddenly snap back into consciousness and look around. Sherlock is standing next to me, waiting, possibly for policemen, there's not much time to waste.

I quickly trip him over and he falls down with a heavy thud. He gets up, surprised at my comeback. I jab at him quickly, this time he fails to avoid it, but he then responds with a knee to my gut which makes me go back, grunting in pain.

There's no other choice; he's a better fighter and hand to hand combat is hopeless against him.

I pull out my fireblade. As soon as I swing it he hits my wrist, which makes me drop it. As it fell on the street it lit. As I try to reach for it with my foot for the blade, I make the fatal mistake of turning my attention away for Holmes.

All it took was one big haymaker, and I go unconscious again. This time for good.

Holmes: I look down on Haddock. He put up more of a fight than I had expected. At that moment Lestrade and some constables rushed in the street.

"-Mr. Holmes! Ah, you've caught the scoundrel! Constable, cuff Sleeping Beauty here and charge him with the murder of Adam Mortimer!  
>-And attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes." I said, pointing to the flaming blade.<p>

Lestrade's eyes narrowed and his face became red with anger

"-Son of a-, he's tried to kill you? I'll make sure that he gets the noose for this, Mr. Holmes!  
>- Of course, Inspector, the case is closed.<br>-Holmes!" As I look to where the voice came from I saw Watson rushing in the street.

"-Are you alright, Holmes?  
>-Yes, Watson, another case has been solved. Let us return to Baker Street. You may write a draft of this happening, but it was not that interesting of a case, although the fireblade will remain one of the most ingenious murder weapons that I have seen in my career."<p>

Watson: As I had finished the first part of my draft, I went to the sitting room to see what my friend was doing. He was sitting at his analysis table, looking into the microscope, with a large book next to him.

"-What are you looking at, Holmes?  
>-Ah, Watson. The object that fell out of the strange garment that we found inside the murderer's locker. It's very clearly a reptilian scale, but I cannot find any match for it in my archive!<p>

-Well, it's black, maybe this reptile had a slight mutation? Why are you bothered by this, Holmes? The case has been solved and the murderer will have been hanged in two days' time! Why on earth are you interested in something that was snagged to his clothing?  
>-It is art for the sake of art, my dear Watson. Until another case shows up, I don't have anything else to do but deduce more about the killer. Did you notice how peculiar the garment inside of his locker was?<p>

-Of course I did, Holmes! But it was just for him to look good in the ring!  
>-No, Watson. Why did he have so many buckles on it? Why, to keep himself strapped on something, of course!<br>-Yes, you did deduce that he was a practitioner of horse-riding.  
>-But the calluses at his fingers, which were easy to distinguish from the calluses caused by blacksmithing, pointed that he had been horse–riding for at least ten years on full-grown horses.<br>But he would have been only a child then, in no position to ride full-grown horses.  
>Why, then were the horse-riding calluses so deep?<p>

-I don't know, because he rides very fast horses? It would also explain the extra safety buckles.

-But then, why were there wings?  
>-Maybe it was just a carnival thing?" I said rather doubtfully.<p>

It was unlikely, but I couldn't think of a better explanation. Holmes had an equally doubtful look.

I then retired to sleep, knowing that my friend was just wishing that this case was just a bit longer and more complex.

He deserved it after a fortnight of doing nothing. I read for a bit and then fell into deep sleep.

I was suddenly awoken by the sound of Holmes's violin.  
>I was furious. Playing the violin at 3 AM, again?!<p>

"-Holmes, please, for the love of God, put the violin away and retire to sleep!  
>- A thousand apologies, my dear friend, but I need to think rather deeply about this issue. The Black Scale is very, very strange, to say the least. "<p>

As he said this he took a pair of tongs and carefully picked up the strange scale from the pot burning over the gas fire.  
>"It has been in the pot for over 5 hours." He said.<br>"And yet, it has not burned away, it has not even been damaged in any way, shape or form."

He then looked at me with a very serious, yet very excited look.  
>"It is fireproof" he said.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5- The Hanging

Haddock: I am thinking.

About Astrid, about mother, about father, about _him__**, **_about my home.  
>What else is a man expected to do in his final moments?<br>The worst part? When Astrid will come to the rendezvous point and I will not come, she will come into the city, buy a newspaper, read the headline "**Beehive Row murderer hanged!**" then she will… oh gods.  
>It is all my fault. Why couldn't have I been more reasonable with Maul, or "Adam" as he was known in London? I am a murderer. Yes, he was the one who started, but I continued.<p>

I didn't knock him out, I ripped his jacket until I had a clear shot and… Who have I become? I deserve this. Even more so since the man whom I have idolized since I first read his cases when I arrived in London arrested me.  
>He had every right in the world to do so.<p>

Eret had told me that Maul used to be my worst enemy's top lieutenant. But he was also more kind-hearted, so I had hoped I would be able to reason with him. And I probably could have reasoned with him if I hadn't been so hot-headed.

It took me a while to find him, but when I did, I sent him a letter, making him believe that I used to be on _his_ crew. Then, when he recognized me, he couldn't be reasoned with, but I couldn't let him do _his_ bidding either.

I laid down on my cell bed. Any moment now they will come and take me to the rope. I was able to keep track of days, and I tearfully realized that this was the day in which I was supposed to meet Astrid. Astrid will weep when she will hear of my execution. All of the archipelago will weep.

But as far as everyone else is concerned, I'm just another cold blooded murderer. And I am.

These were my last hours, I knew that I would die today. I might as well think of my finest memories.

Ahh… I'll never forget that first trip I had with Astrid. I chuckle as I think how it started, but then it was just smooth, beautiful sailing(well, not sailing). How she always punched my shoulder and then kissed me. She never left me. How she jumped to my aid by throwing that hammer during the final exam.

Ahhh, and how will mother react to this? She already felt guilty for leaving me for 20 years, she'll fell responsible for my execution. But it wasn't her fault, it was mine.

I try to not think of how _he_ would react to the news. He might not even eat anymore. What will his life be without me? What have I done? I have once again disappointed my late father. I have once again failed to protect my own. Two chiefs dead in two years. It's a disaster and it's all my fault!  
>I try to imagine as hard as I can that I am riding in the sky. It's my last wish, to ride, once more. I might as well imagine it.<p>

The cold wind gently whipping my face, the feeling of being totally in control, yet being in danger at the same time, the feeling when you dive down, and pull at the last moment… nothing in the world can match it.

I was so dumb, so selfish. How could I do such a thing?! It was nighttime already. I wonder why they hadn't come yet to- oh there they are. One of the guards unlocks my door and looks at me with pity and sorrow. The fellow was at least forty-five, so he was feeling rather bad for sending such a young man to the noose.

"-Hector Haddock. Your time has come. Sam, Roderick, cuff him.  
>-I'm not going to run, if that's what you're afraid of.<br>-I'm sorry, lad. May God have mercy on your soul."

I don't know how much I have walked through the prison. I don't know if the walk lasted one minute or one hour.  
>I don't know if the execution chamber was right next to my room, or across the prison.<br>I couldn't even tell if they took me to another building.  
>I didn't have any control over my feet, they were just slowly going forward, without my consent. I was conscious of the guards and other prisoners on the corridors, but I couldn't make out their faces. Everything was blurry, and I could hear a continuous, static sound in my ears.<p>

Eventually we reach a room. At first I think it's just another corridor, but the priest doing blessings and the noose quickly change my mind. Is this how it really ends? Am I really going to die like another common criminal? I deserve to, for what I did, even if what I did was with good reason.

I look out the barred window. There are very few guards outside the courtyard near the execution chamber. No one would ever be able to escape through here. And no searchlight would be able reach this place, no one would ever be dumb enough to try to escape through the execution room.

But something else catches my eye. This prison is in the middle of nowhere, yet I can see a fairly large abandoned house on the hill. I have seen it before.  
>Yes, it was where Astrid had left me! The only window that had vision to that house was in this chamber.<br>And tonight was when she and _him_ were supposed to pick me up! They were only a couple of miles away!  
>But I would be putting them at great risk. Would I do the same for them? Yes, I would, for both of them. The executioner ties the noose around my neck and I feel as if my body turned to ice.<p>

"Do you have any last words?" asked someone, who, I couldn't make out.  
>It was now or never. <em>He<em>'ll save me.

I breathe into my lungs as much of the musty air as I can and yell "TOOTHLESS, HELP ME! THEY'LL HANG ME! NOW, TOOTHLESS! One of the guards gags me from behind and nods to the executioner.

I hear can hear his signature whistle! He's come for me! But it's too late, the ground beneath my feet disappears and I fell the rope tie itself to my neck like a snake. I try to vomit, but I can't, I can't breathe, it's over.  
>I am dead.<p>

Watson: Holmes soon returned to his stance like the one he has between cases.  
>Yet, he smoked a lot, even more so than usual, so much so, that if I opened the window someone from the street would yell "Fire!"<p>

When he smoked deeply, he thought deeply. What of, I couldn't make out. Because of "The Black Scale"?  
>I admit, it was rather strange, but it was most likely nothing!<p>

So what if it's fireproof, rocks are fireproof too! And how can he be so sure that it was a reptilian scale when he hadn't found any match for it in his massive archive of encyclopedias? I was in my room, with the window open, trying to avoid as much of the vile smoke as I could.

When, suddenly, I heard loud footsteps on the stair. I rushed to the sitting room and quickly opened the window while yelling "don't worry, there's no fire!" The man who entered was none other than Lestrade.  
>I had never seen the little inspector so angry and tired.<br>He was breathing heavily, his face was as red as a lobster, his hands were shaking. As Holmes wanted to ask him what was the matter, Lestrade passed out. We both rushed towards him and I quickly went to check his pulse.

"What is it Watson?" asked Holmes with concern.  
>"Stress to the max. Let's get him on the couch."<br>We did so and Holmes rushed to his room to get brandy and vinegar-drenched handkerchiefs. With the help of the brandy and the vinegar, Lestrade soon awoke.  
>He tried to say something, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. It was like a combination of a whistle and a shout. Holmes signaled him to calm down and poured him some brandy. The Inspector greedily swallowed the alcohol and breathed heavily.<p>

If I hadn't known Lestrade better, I would have said that he had completely lost his mind.

"-Mr. Holmes! Th-th-the scoundrel that you caught three days ago…  
>-The young man? What about him Lestrade?<br>Lestrade looked at us with bloodshot eyes and said

"-He has escaped Mr. Holmes!  
>-Well, he shouldn't be too difficult to track down.<br>-He escaped during his hanging! Just as the chair was kicked, someone blew up the wall and the guards were knocked out by the blast! And just before this, when he was asked what his final words were, he called for help, from someone named Toothless, or something.

The outer walls had not been touched! The men have been rallied as soon as the explosion was heard, but there was no one scaling the wall, nor anyone near the prison!  
>It would take an experienced climber at least five minutes to climb the outer wall, yet there were guards there in less than a minute after the explosion! We haven't touched anything, Mr. Holmes we were waiting for you!"<p>

Holmes had a look of excitement on his face which I had not seen in a long time. The desire to close a case, solve a difficult mystery, art for the sake of art, mental gymnastics.

"Oh, yes! Watson, I was wrong, this case is going to be one worthy of your collection!" He quickly got dressed and asked Lestrade to hold a cab for us. As he put his "toolkit" in his coat pocket he said with a smile "Case re-opened!"


	6. Chapter 6- The Escape

**Haddock**: The first thing that I am conscious of is a sharp pain in my chest.  
>I try to open my eyes. I can see splashes of beige, green and black, but I cannot distinguish anything.<p>

I can hear a voice crying "No, no, wake up, please wake up!"  
>Astrid? Wait, I am alive?<br>With all my might I let out a groan.

"Yes, yes! No, Toothless get away from him, he's already half-suffocated!" I try to breathe hard, struggling to get up.  
>The pain from my chest was from her resuscitating me. I lie down on my back again, panting, only when I have breathed hard did I realize that my neck was in agony inside out.<p>

Then the terrifying memory hits me like an express train. The rope… the rope…  
>I groan "Did… did… did anybody see you? Wait, I don't care, you saved my life, bud. For the millionth time."<p>

I then vomit my guts out on the grass, my throat being in so much pain after this that I let out a muffled scream. Astrid rushes to my side, trying to help me up. I can hear _his_ sob-like pants near me. I want to just pat him, to let him know I'm okay.  
>But I'm too tired. I crash back on the grass, falling back into deep sleep. I wake back up, I don't know if I slept two minutes or two hours. Either way, I was able to stand up, just barely, much to their surprise and joy.<p>

_He_ took us to a forest near the outskirts of London, away from the Derby Blackgate prison. Astrid had left Toothless behind a bit in order for her to visit London a little; he could hide on his own.  
>It was nighttime when they bailed me out, and no searchlights could have reached that part of the prison. And either way, Toothless stayed there for only about five seconds; Astrid quickly jumped off and cut off the noose. He also smeared away his own footprints.<p>

When I started feeling better I tell them about why I got there in the first place.  
>For killing Maul.<br>She was not shocked at what I had done, in fact she just about praised me for standing up to him and the fact that Drago's top lieutenant is now dead. However, Astrid was curious on how I got caught.

"- No one saw you, the wound caused by the blade got cauterized, and with the thrashing you gave him before the final blow, they should have thought that he got into a fight with a drunkard and died. How did they find you?  
>- Sherlock Holmes, probably the most brilliant detective of all time, was the one who investigated the crime. He had determined that the scar on Maul's chest was in fact the fatal wound, and that it could have only been caused by the fireblade, which is right now in the cellars of Scotland Yard, alongside with my flight gear and the rest of my belongings.<br>- Ah, Hiccup, when I saw you in that noose… and you wouldn't wake up! I thought I had lost you.  
>-I thought so, too."<p>

She then wept on my shoulder as Toothless was also sobbing near me and gently butting me. Astrid almost never cried, let alone sobbed.

"- Well, what now, Chief?

-We wait until nighttime and get back to Berk.

-What about the rest of his generals?

-They might not even be in London. And even so, I'm bound to make Scotland Yard's top 10 most wanted after this. It's too risky, we'll have to send in someone else. But first, wait for nighttime, we can't let them see us in broad daylight.

-Right. Wait, your neck!

-What about it?

-The noose has left a red mark. It'll leave a scar!

-Add it to the list." I said with sarcasm.

She took a mirror out of her pocket and gave it to me.  
>Indeed, the middle part of my neck was now reddish-purple.<br>I also saw that I still was wearing the same set of expensive clothes from three days ago. They didn't want to waste prison uniforms on death-row inmates.

"-Well, Astrid, have you bought any food from the city?

-Yes, I've also got some tobacco, I know you started smoking when you arrived in London, but with your throat I don't think it's a good idea to-

- Give it to me. Put some in the pipe."

I was gasping for a good pipe. I hadn't smoked for three days. It really was a relaxing vice, albeit still a vice, but most gentlemen in London smoked, and I did wish to pass as a gentleman while in the city.

"-Did you get books? We ought to keep ourselves occupied, it's barely dawn.

-Yes, I got this while I was in the city."  
>As she said this she pulled a large leather book out of her knapsack. It was none other than "The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes".<p>

I still respected Holmes, I didn't feel angry because he had arrested me, he had every right in the world to do so.  
>He arrested a murderer… a murderer. Couldn't have I done this otherwise? Did I really have to kill Maul?<p>

I took the book and smiled. I had already read it, but I would be reading it with Astrid and Toothless now!

"Astrid have you got matches? No, no, Toothless, I know you want to light my pipe, but this is a job for a match, not a cannon!" I said as I saw that he opened his mouth near the pipe.  
>I lit the pipe and opened the book to the first case "A Scandal in Bohemia"<p>

"- So, Hiccup, what do we do now?

-'We' are waiting, 'I' am smoking. And reading."

I clear my throat. It was feeling better now, and the tobacco actually helped; I don't know how, but it did help. I start reading, hoping that Astrid and Toothless didn't hate Sherlock for what he did now; he did his job, he wasn't the one who sent me to the noose!

That, was the decision of the judge. I had learned to read English even before I went to London. After all, only the writing was different.

"Alright, here we go: 'To Sherlock Holmes, she was always 'The Woman'…"

**Watson**: After a short train ride we took a cab to the Blackgate prison.

Lestrade had told us almost everything at Baker Street, and he still was too angry to be much help, so our rides were rather silent.

"-Have the papers found out, Lestrade?

-That's exactly what we're trying to avoid, Mr. Holmes! You can imagine what a scandal it would be if it ever got out that a death-row inmate could escape during his execution under everyone's noses at the high-security Blackgate prison!"

We then arrived at the prison. Outside of a few fields and a fairly large house on a hill that looked abandoned, there was nothing else.

The prison itself was imposing; Tall concrete walls, dark watch towers, well-built guards, it really did look like an inescapable prison.

The moment we entered, we were greeted by the intoxicating atmosphere of a large prison;. Dark corridors, guards patrolling said filthy corridors, prisoners who were either lying on their cell beds or trying to yell, but if they did yell they were quickly silenced by the sound of a baton being hit against iron bars.

As we were led through the corridors, Lestrade stopped next to an open, empty cell.

"This was Haddock's cell. He had stayed here for three days."

Holmes entered it and started meticulously examining every corner of it.

"Well, nothing conclusive. Other than the fact that he mostly sat on his bed, thinking, that he often talked to himself here, and that he barely touched his food, nothing else is observable."

As much as I was used to my friend making deductions out of apparently nothing, this baffled me. He started explaining before I could even ask him.

"-The mattress is very worn in the middle, therefore he sat on it, he hadn't stretched much, therefore he hadn't slept much.

And the fact that he talked to himself, well, I overheard the prisoner in the next cell telling his friend that he pitied the young man that sat in this cell, who was talking to himself.  
>The fact that he barely touched his food is evident from the deep plate-marks on the pushcart here. He hadn't lifted the food off the cart, however, these coffee stains indicate that he did drink. He was very concerned.<p>

However, the fact that he called for 'Toothless', whoever that is, means that he expected to be rescued.

-Maybe, he called his friend in sheer desperation mixed with delirium? People do tend to get that way when the noose is being tied around their neck."

Holmes shook his head and said

"-He knew that his friend would help him, and that he would hear him. An inside job. How else do you explain that whoever blew up the wall clearly heard his cries for help?  
>And how else would he have had access to explosives, if not from the store rooms?<p>

Lestrade, find out if anyone in this prison, guard or prisoner, ever was or is nicknamed Toothless.

But his sheer disappearance into thin air still is a mystery. Maybe his accomplice had also supplied him with a uniform, with which he blended in during the confusion?

But he didn't know anyone from this prison, in fact he probably didn't even know of the prison's existence until recently.

- However could you know that, Holmes?

- He laid on his bed all of the time. If it was someone dear to him who had come at the cell, he would have definitely got up and chatted them up."

Lestrade then took us to the execution chamber.  
>It was a mess.<br>The wall was destroyed, by some miracle the scattered bricks hadn't hit anyone when it was blown up, but the sheer blast knocked out everyone.

Holmes went through the ruined room into the yard. This portion of the yard was fenced out from the rest of the prison walkways. Holmes turned his attention towards some traces on the dirt.

"Someone had smeared away their own footprints here" he concluded.

"Very large feet, in fact they do not seem to have been made by ordinary shoes, it is round, and the deeper marks here indicate that they have some kind of claws. Shoes with crampons, perhaps? But we have already concluded that the wall had not been escalated.

Wait, there are four original footprints, and they are in a parallel position from one another!

This means that either two men had very similar shoes and feet and stood in very similar positions, or that they were made by some sort of four-legged animal.

The footprints are too smeared in order for me to determine what creature it was, it seems somewhat canine, but it is larger than an ordinary dog's."

I couldn't help but shudder a bit as I remembered the case of "The Hound of The Baskervilles". Outside of the case of "The Awakened" I can safely say that it was the most terrifying experience of my life. My train of thoughts was interrupted by Holmes calling my name with excitement. He was kneeling next to the ruined wall and picked up a small object from inbetween the cracks.

I gasped for air a bit.

It was The Scale.

The Black Scale.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry, it was a bit rushed, but I have been very busy with school lately.<em>

_The line " 'We' are waiting, 'I' am smoking" is a reference to the movie "Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows_"  
><em><br>Hiccup smoking: please don't hate me for this, but he's 20, he can smoke if he wants! Plus, towards the end I am planning for him to develop a more "Sherlockian" personality, so smoking is mandatory!_

_Review please, your opinion is important!_


	7. Chapter 7- A Mutual Plan

**Holmes: **Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable must be true.

This was one of my many mottos.  
>And I have always applied it in my cases, and in the case of Haddock's escape, I had ruled out the possibility of the accomplice scaling the wall: there was no way anyone could have scaled a twenty-foot tall wall, set the explosives, then climb back over the wall with a half-strangled man without being noticed.<p>

Then there was the possibility of his accomplice being one of the guards; a more plausible theory, but it still had solid objections; he didn't know anyone in the prison.  
>Therefore, his accomplice must have infiltrated the prison somehow.<br>I have questioned some of the guards; they were not able to see what was going on near the execution chamber, but one of the watchtower guards said that before the explosion he heard something which sounded like a combination of a whistle and a scream, which culminated with the sound of a blast, and then, a second later, the sound of the wall being blown up.  
>Afterwards, he rushed downwards to see what was going on, but out of the corner of his eye he was able to see something flapping in the air. He said it looked like a red scarf, but it was flapping way too vigorously for the low wind that was that night to have picked it up.<p>

Two explosions… this must mean that the accomplice triggered some kind of chain reaction: a gunpowder trail?- One explosion to light the trail, the second one to blow up the wall.  
>But why use an explosion just to light a gunpowder trail? Besides, there was a distinctive burning smell in the ruined chamber, but it was not gunpowder, nor was it dynamite… it was somewhat sulphurous.<br>It was a home-made bomb, then, not a bomb made out of the TNT or gunpowder that was found in the prison storerooms. Furthermore, nothing was missing from the prison supplies.

Therefore, the one possible explanation is that his friend had entered the prison, disguised as a guard, somehow made his way to the back of the execution room, made a chemical reaction, which explains the whistle and the smaller explosion that came beforehand, blew up the wall, took Haddock and supplied him with a uniform for himself, and then blended in and exited the prison during the confusion.  
>But there still were two things which bothered me.<p>

First, about the murder itself. It appears that the victim, Adam Mortimer, was killed because he had an allegiance with an underground organization which opposed that of the murderer's.  
>Why had I not looked into this? Why did I just focus myself on the crime itself rather than the motive? What if the victim's organization is a criminal syndicate, of whose scale rivals that of the late professor Moriarty? But then again, it could be Haddock's organization that is a criminal syndicate, or, most likely, both of their organizations are criminal syndicates at each other's necks.<p>

Why had I not thought of searching Mortimer's place first? For the most celebrated private detective in London, I have certainly overlooked vital clues, but then again, if I had dragged on with the investigation for too long then the murderer would have certainly escaped. In fact, I had reached my conclusion just before Haddock took a train to safety!  
>But now I know one thing for certain: I must search Adam Mortimer's house to see what was truly going on.<p>

Then there was one more thing bothering me. The Black Scale. I had so far found two of them: One that was snagged to Haddock's peculiar garment from his locker, and another one stuck in the bricks of the ruined wall.  
>I had received the courteous permission of the director to use the prison lab. This scale was also fireproof. Put it together with the smeared animal footprints outside and we get the fact that whatever or whoever owned the scale, was the one who came to Haddock's help.<p>

Perhaps the Scale isn't a scale at all and it's some sort of new fireproof armor? The cases of "The Hound" and "The Awakened" had taught me to also look for answers which were a bit… out of this world.  
>Something that has a fireproof black scale, is able to jump (or fly) over a twenty foot wall, is smart enough to smear away it's own footprints, and can help with blowing up a wall and disappear quickly and I had also taken into consideration the non-matching deepness of Haddock's horse-riding calluses also combined with the fact that he had a rather more pale complexion, as if he had spent a lot of time at high altitudes.<p>

Maybe if… no, it is silly to believe such things.

"-Well, Watson, I believe that we have learned all that we could from the prison. There is something very strange about this affair.

- And made you say that Holmes? The fact that a death row inmate could escape during his hanging, the fact that there are no marks of climbing tools on the walls, the calling of "Toothless", whoever that is, just before the explosion or the unexplained presence of footprints belonging to an animal which is not a guard dog?" said Watson with sarcasm.

"-Jokes aside, Watson, yes, all of these things.  
>Also, whatever that animal is, I have little doubt that it is the carrier of The Black Scale. So an animal, most likely a large reptile, that is capable of vaulting over a twenty foot wall, wait for it's master to blow up the wall into the execution chamber, and then disappear within seconds together with at least two persons, one of them half-strangled.<br>It was also clever enough to partially smear away it's footprints.  
>Why would the accomplice bring along an animal? It dosen't make any sense. Unless the certain creature is vital to his or her plans.<br>Now, what creature that we know of: is a large, black reptile, capable of scaling a twenty foot wall, can somehow help in creating a very quick explosion, and leave so quickly that no one even caught a glimpse of it?

- Well… not any creature that we know of. Wait, unless."

Watson then started to laugh hysterically, but after a few seconds, he coughed and looked at me with a very grave stare.

"-Holmes, you, out of all of the people in this world, you should be the last one to suggest that Haddock was broken out by a… a fairytale creature!

-It still is too early to jump to conclusions, Watson, especially to such far fetched ones, but our experience in the sinister case which you have named 'The Awakened' should have taught you that just because we do not know anything of certain things, it does not mean that they do not exist.  
>However, something else bothers me.<p>

-What, Holmes?

-One of the guards had told me that while he ran from his post in order to see where the explosion came from, he saw something which looked like a red scarf picked up by the wind out of the corner of his eye. If we are to accept the paranormal explanation, then the dragon was black. Why then, the red shade?

-Maybe it is able to change color? It is a reptile, then maybe it has skin-changing properties, like a chameleon?

-No, Watson. Why would it color itself red if it had to hide in the dark night, especially if it was already black?  
>But, then again, while this theory sounds ridiculous at first: even I had to argue with myself in order to consider it, you will see that no other theory is able to stand.<br>Anyway, we should now head over to Adam Mortimer's house.

-The victim from three days ago? Why Holmes? You think he dug his way out of his grave in order to save his murderer?

-Of course not Watson. But remember the dialogue the murderer had with the victim before the struggle? It suggested that the victim had some things to hide of his own. We have seen everything here anyway. Let us take a cab and a train to the outskirts of London.  
>I live in hope of a case as exciting as 'The Awakened' or 'The Final Problem'.<p>

**Haddock: **"Ach! Toothless stop that!" I yelled as he kept on licking me.  
>It didn't matter how many times he did it, it never got more awkward.<br>Astrid was laughing along with Toothless as I was (futilely) trying to wipe off the drool from the suit.

"Stop laughing, both of you! I only picked up this suit four days ago! There was some chance I could get all the prison grime out of it, but now it's doomed.  
>Do you have any idea how much I saved up to buy it?<br>From the best tailor in Charing Cross! They don't make suits like this anywhere else!"

But as I said this, as much as I wanted to remain serious, I broke down in laughter myself.

"-Well, now that I'm soaked, I hope you've also got me some clothes!

-Yeah… about that…" said Astrid rather sheepishly

"-Please don't tell me I'll have to remain like this until we reach Berk. It's a few days' worth of flying!

-Well I have bought a man's morning gown.  
>-A morning gown? Seriously?"<p>

I have to say it was rather nice,velvet red with shades of gold, although not at all suitable for sitting around a campfire in the forest.  
>This was the type of morning gown that one would wear in the early hours of the day, so as not to look embarrassing in case of an unexpected visit.<p>

Which reminded me…

"-Astrid, I have killed Maul or 'Adam Mortimer' as he was known, but we still have no more information about Drago or his plans.  
>I should have searched his house! There's bound to be some information there!<p>

-Yeah, it's a bit too late for that, is it not? You set foot outside this forest, they will arrest you faster than you can say 'Help'!

-I have heard that his house was on the outskirts of London. I have caught the address. Isn't this forest close to London? I will be able to enter his house, which is rather lonely, get information, get out without even setting foot in London!

-No, don't do it! I'll come with you!

-Someone has to stay with Toothless. What if we both get caught? He can't fly on his own, he'll be stuck here!

-I'll go, then.

-You can't pick locks, and this set of clothes, although soaked, it will make me blend in with the crowd in case of anything.

-I don't want to lose you again!"

She starts to sob again. Toothless just looks at me with those big green eyes with disapproval.

"-Look, I promise I'll be careful. His house isn't that far. There's only a small village nearby, and London is a few miles away, there's not a chance any constable will be at his house.

-Wh-what about Sherlock Holmes? From what you've read to me, he's one of the most intelligent men in the world. He's already caught you once!

- Come on, if he didn't search Maul's house when he got murdered, what are the chances he'll do it now?"

She eventually agreed. It was our last shot at getting anything about Drago's plans. We hugged and kissed for what seemed like hours and I cut off one of my locks of hair as a memento for her, if I never came back.

As a memento for me, she gave me her hairpin, which when she removed, made her blonde hair fall into what looked like a waterfall of gold made by the valkeryes.  
>Her hairpin also made a perfect lockpick.<br>Before I set off she punched me on the shoulder so hard I winced.

"That's for getting caught!" As expected, she kissed me deeply after this. I savored every moment. Her smell, her lips, her eyes, even Toothless staying next us, gently nuzzling us. I remembered every moment, for I knew that the prospect of getting caught again was very likely.

And if that happened, they would make sure that I wouldn't escape again.

I set off for Maul's house, Wine's Lee.

Little did I know that the great Sherlock Holmes had the same plans…

* * *

><p><em>Another one done! Please review!<br>And in case you're wondering why I mention Hiccup by his family name, it's because Holmes and Watson are mentioned by their family names, so I wish to be consistent._


	8. Chapter 8-Revelations

**Watson:** We had taken a cab to Wine's Lee.  
>Holmes had just stuffed his pipe with strong tobacco and smoked, eyes closed, drawing slow, long puffs out of the pipe.<br>This was what Holmes was like when he thought of something very deeply. I knew better than to ask him about his plans.

And boy, did I have questions. While Holmes's theory about how Haddock escaped was… far-fetched, to say the least, it did in fact start to make sense: The explosion caused only within minutes from the name "Toothless" being called, the sulphurous smell, the fact that there was no one around the prison, the whistle before the explosion, the fact that there were no marks of climbing tools on the wall, and, of course The Black Scale, it all added up.

And, indeed the case of The Awakened had most certainly taught us that when all other possibilities are gone, look into the impossibilities, and then think whether or not they truly are impossible. While the theory that the reptile whose scale got snagged on Haddock's strange outfit, was also the one which helped him break out was without a shadow of a doubt true, then that inevitably lead to more… unusual conclusions.

I knew that Holmes knew more than he had told me, but I knew how much he loved to leave me in the dark until the end of the case. But, still, I couldn't think of anything that we could have found in Mortimer's house that could have told us about Haddock's whereabouts.

"So, Watson" said Holmes  
>"While Haddock's whereabouts are unknown, and I doubt that whatever we find in Mortimer's house will tell us where he is, this case is most certainly deeper than just a young man's vengeful murder and escape. There is a web of deceit around these two seemingly simple crimes.<br>While what we are doing is not exactly legal, it is very unlikely that anyone will see us, and I'm certain that the payoff will be well worth it."

Holmes then looked at his watch and said

"-Only 1:00 PM, good, we have time.

-Have time for what, Holmes?

-To find Haddock. I have reasons to believe that he will be gone beyond our reach as soon as it is dark.

-I'm not sure I quite follow you.

-When he escaped, there were only a few minutes left of darkness. This 'dragon', if you so wish to call it, is bound to… attract attention unless he flies in pitch-black darkness."

After a few minutes we were at Wine's Lee. It was a cheerful, two-story brick house.

"It is very lonely." Said Holmes thoughtfully.

"Remember what I had said,Watson, in the case of "The Cooper Beeches" that not even the vilest back alleys in London don't compare to the amount of crime that is to be found in this sort of loneliness. Even in those disgusting streets, if a woman is being beaten, or a man robbed, a constable may pass by and stop the crime. Out here, one can have the vilest of secrets, and the police may not even suspect a thing."

We crossed the small stone pathway that led to the front door. Holmes stopped me from moving any further and analyzed the pathway with his magnifying glass.

"-There was no servant. Interesting.

-However did you figure that out, Holmes?

-The yard is very large, yet it is unkempt, weeds are flowing over, and nothing is planted. There was not even even a gardener, even though he could have easily afforded one. If he dosen't even have a gardener, which even some of the lesser off families hire sometimes to pick weeds, it means that he dosen't have any other servants either. The only reason that I can think of not to have servants when you could afford it is if you've got something to hide. I was right, Watson! There is something! Now, let us pick the lock."

But as soon as he inserted the pin into the lock, it opened.

"Hmm, this door was open. Let's see…" He then unscrewed the door handle and analyzed the lock.

"This door was not just forgotten unlocked by Mortimer. If he had such a deep secret that he wouldn't even hire servants, he would take great care to lock his door. This lock has been picked with a hairpin, by the looks of it."

We entered the house, which was a complete mess- Books were scattered everywhere, all of the drawers opened, even some of the wall panels had been kicked in.

"Someone had broken in here. He was searching for something. He didn't take anything of value. Silverware, vintage wines, paintings, pottery, all of which are worth a fortune each, have been left here.  
>He or she was searching for something specific. In fact, we've just missed him! Look!<br>This shelf, from which these books were knocked off, it is not covered in dust. Not even slightly.  
>It is not covered in dust because books were on it. It should have become dusty mere hours after the books were removed, especially since there isn't anyone in the house anymore to clean it.<br>Someone's been here only a few hours ago." Holmes concluded.

Upstairs, things were just about the same. Some of the doors were smashed. Holmes looked at the smashed doors with great interest

"-Interesting, the doors below were simply picked, yet these are completely smashed from their hinges. They look as though they have been kicked.

-Maybe there were two burglars with two different methods of opening a locked door? They split up: one for the ground floor, the other for the upper floor, maybe?

- A very astute theory, my dear Watson. But it is more likely that there was only one person who was searching for a specific item. He or she started breaking these doors in order to save time, and because he or she started losing their temper."

Holmes searched through the house himself, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Or, almost nothing…

"-It seems that whatever the burglar was searching for, he didn't find it.

-How do you know that he didn't find it, Holmes?

-Because I have." As he said this, he removed a candle from the candlestick on the wall and pressed a button in the now empty candle-holder.  
>A grinding sound was produced and a portion of the wall sunk into the ground revealing a stone stairway which led into a basement.<p>

"It was very clear, Watson, that this house had a basement, this being made evident by it's support design. Since we haven't found any, it was clear to me that the basement was hidden."

I drew my gun and Holmes lit a candle for me to advance into the basement. It was, understandably, very dark, since this house hasn't been lived in for almost four days, any candle or fire was now out.  
>We reached a door and Holmes carefully pushed it open, gun in hand. He lit a lamp that was hung on the wall and the room slowly illuminated.<br>My readers will forgive me if I do not describe in full detail the objects that 'decorated' the room.

They were animal heads, hung up, much like you see at taxidermists. But these animals were… unlike anything that we had ever seen before.

Holmes himself, a man who had the most steeled nerves I had ever seen gasped for air and took three steps back before cocking his gun. These creature heads were all scaly and quite large. The only thing that I could possibly compare them to are crocodiles or… dragons.

Whoever stuffed these creatures hadn't done a very good job, as the smell was quite sickening. We must have spent minutes just staring at these taxidermist objects, before Holmes broke the silence.

"-Well, Watson, my crazy theory about Haddock's escape now looks much more plausible, dosen't it?

-I don't know what to say, Holmes… how… when… why…" No matter how hard I tried I couldn't form a question. It was beyond belief what we saw.

My friend then went to the desk and took a few papers. They were all written in some sort of cipher.

"-Watson, you have read my monograph on secret cyphers, haven't you?

-Yes, Holmes. I suppose that you will use the same method as the one you had used in the case of 'The Dancing Men'?

-No, Watson. This isn't just a code. It's a language of it's own. It has elements of old Norwegian and old English, but amazingly it seems that it is phonetically identical to modern English!

-How can that be, Holmes?

-That is for us to find out. This is a very unusual kind of paper, very coarse, it seems that it was made using archaic methods. But these papers here are written in the same language, but on conventional paper, and they are not in the same handwriting.  
>Therefore, the coarse papers are sent from somewhere where it is not possible to find modern paper, and these papers here were written by Mortimer and were about to be sent. Wait, the coarse papers!<p>

-What about them, Holmes?

-It took me a while to observe it, since it is written in a different alphabet, but I have seen this handwriting before…" said Holmes gritting his teeth.

"-Watson, remember our 'client' from three days ago?

-The one who grabbed you by the collar and then frightened Mrs. Hudson?

-Yes, Daniel Marker, although I doubt that's his real name. This is his handwriting.

-Are you certain?

-Again, Watson, it is written in a different alphabet, so it is impossible to say, but, yes, I am almost certain. Let us leave, Watson, there is nothing else we can do in this godforsaken house. We went out of the basement, and Holmes insisted that we go out the back door.

"-Why, Holmes, do you want to go out the backdoor?

-This is why, Watson." He said pointing to footprints on the ground that were visible as soon as he opened the backdoor. He quickly got on his knees and took out his magnifying glass.

"These footprints are medium in size, I'd say about size seven and a half. But, Watson, only the right foot is visible. Why is that?"

He then clapped his hands loudly while yelling "Ha!" and quickly pointed to a rectangular mark inbetween two right footprints.

"- The burglar was peg-legged. The left leg.

-Hector Haddock!

-Precisely, my dear Watson. He wished to find a certain something in Mortimer's house. The strange maps and letters that we found in the basement and are now resting in my coat-pocket, were most likely what he was looking for."

The footprints were leading to the fence. Holmes vaulted over the fence and then told me to do the same.

"-The footprints are leading to the forest, Watson. That is his hiding place.

-Let's contact Lestrade!

-It is not that simple, Watson. Haddock is not the cold-blooded murderer we initially thought him to be.

-What do we do, then? Shouldn't we arrest him?

-First of all, Watson, like I said, I'm starting to doubt that Haddock is a true criminal, second, I don't think it's a good idea to arrest him while he's being guarded by a creature that can blow up walls. We shall first return to Baker Street, translate some of these papers, then, depending on what they say, I shall either tell Lestrade to gather all of his available men and attempt to arrest Haddock, or, if these papers reveal what I'm expecting them to reveal, I shall present Lestrade false evidence which shows that Haddock is innocent, and then we shall attempt to talk with the young man and find out more about this case. Either way, we shall have to be very careful in approaching Haddock and his … dragon."


	9. Chapter 9- A Walk in the Woods

**Haddock:** "I didn't find jack-shit!"

I am not really the type to curse, but this situation really did get on my nerves.  
>I risked my life going into Maul's house and I found nothing, absolutely nothing that could have given me a better idea of Drago's plans.<br>I risked getting captured again and leaving Astrid and Toothless exposed.

I get shivers down my spine thinking of what they would have done to Toothless had they found him while I was out… This was so dumb of me!

"-Well, now that you screwed up, again, I hope that at least nobody saw you.

-Don't worry, Astrid, his closest neighbors are miles away and I don't think constables ever pass by there. That's exactly why he chose that place; it's so secluded that no one would ever be able to see or hear you doing anything there.

-So there must have been something! You just didn't look hard enough!

-Yeah, maybe."

Toothless slapped me with his paw from behind so hard that I fell flat on my face. He then snorted disapprovingly. I can be such a screw-up sometimes.

"-But I looked everywhere in his house! I even kicked open some of the wall panels, nothing!

-Alright. Now give me back my hairpin."

I gave her back her pin. At least I got some lock-picking training while looting his house. From yelling a bit, I made my throat hurt again. Toothless still cooed with sorrow every time he eyed my throat mark. Even after starching my collar so that he wouldn't see it, he still made that sob-like coo. He must have missed me. After all, the first time he saw me in one whole month was hanging by the noose. I hadn't thought about that until now. All there was left to do now was to just stay put until nightfall. I thought about smoking another pipe, but I eventually decided against it, and instead I decided to make up on lost time.

"- You know, Astrid, every time I got beat up in that ring, when it hurts so much I'm thinking 'just punch me in the back of the head so I don't feel nothing no more' , I got up, and won. Why? Because I thought I saw you in the crowd.

- I should have come with you. I'm sorry.

-What for? I'm the one who should be sorry. I, the chief, went on a field mission, because of my supposedly high negotiation skills. The plan was to turn him to our cause, not kill him.

-Maybe it's for the best, Hiccup.

-Eret told me that Maul was the most light-hearted of all of his lieutenants, well light-hearted by Drago's standards doesn't mean much, but if I could change Eret's mind, I could have changed his.

-Still, your mission was to just eliminate the threat that he posed. You did that.

-At what cost? I am a murderer now.

-Don't talk such rot, Hiccup! He attacked you!

-No. I first provoked him with words. I… I _**wanted**_ to kill him. I've got this… thing inside of me. Vengeance? Maybe."

Almost without realizing it, I reached into the tobacco pouch and lit the pipe with a burning twig from the fire.  
>That twig reminded me of <em><strong>Inferno<strong>_, my fire-sword_**. **_ I remembered how proud I felt after I had finished it in the forge. The ultimate cutting tool, weapon, and dragon-taming item, all in one. Now, because of my stupidity and short temper, it will sit forever, gathering dust in a drawer in Scotland Yard.  
>Or maybe Inspector Lestrade decided to keep it as a prize. At least then it would have <em>some<em> use.

And my beautiful, sleek, flight gear. How much I had worked in order for it in order to allow gliding alongside my best friend… that was lost as well. I couldn't wait to just get on Toothless again, wish which will have been granted as soon as it was dark.

Now, I planned to send someone else in London, since it couldn't have possibly been just Maul who got involved in foreign affairs.

But, who to send?  
>Time would tell.<p>

**Watson:** During our entire ride from Wine's Lee to Baker Street, Holmes was in his trance. Even more so than usual. I tried to talk to him a couple of times, but he didn't even respond.  
>This was one strange case.<br>I was still trying to wrap my head around this. So, Daniel Marker was involved somehow with the late Adam Mortimer.

I remembered that they both were ship captains, so it was possible. But what would Haddock have to do with them? Clearly, Haddock killed Mortimer for more reasons than just to avenge his father. He tried finding information inside Mortimer's house after escaping.  
>Holmes convinced me that Haddock's crimes were excusable, and that he could prove this by translating some of the papers.<br>We reached Baker Street at about 3 PM and Holmes quickly took out a few historical dictionaries and started examining the papers at his desk.

"-Holmes, why are you not writing down the meanings of this language?

-Because, my dear Watson, figuring out the alphabet was child's play. I can read them very clearly. In fact, much more clearly than I would wish…" said Holmes gritting his teeth yet again.

He then put all of the papers back into his coat-pocket and said that he was heading to Scotland Yard.

" -What do the papers say, Holmes?

-I cannot say that right now, Watson. I shall meet at the inn closest to Wine's Lee at exactly 4 PM. I wish to end this affair by talking with Haddock, however I would recommend slipping your revolver into your pocket. And you would do no harm if you would replace the ordinary bullets with the high-explosive bullets which I store under my bed: Bullets that explode on contact are an excellent argument against creatures that can blow up prison walls.  
>But you must not rush to draw your revolver. I wish to end this on good terms with our young friend."<p>

I hadn't felt this afraid since I went in India and later Afganistan as a young soldier. We were about to try and negotiate with a man whom had escaped hanging and was probably guarded by a creature that can blow up walls and disappear in seconds!  
>Alright, nobody saw the creature, therefore it cannot be too large, probably the size of a horse, which did soothe me a bit.<p>

One terrifying experience I had as an officer in India was when I was attacked by a tiger while searching for a rebel camp in the jungle.  
>My so called 'comrades' ran as soon as they saw the beast. I had managed to shoot it right inbetween the eyes.<br>It was so close that I had in fact managed to kill it during it's jump!  
>I was trying to reason with myself that if I had survived that, I could survive whatever Holmes was taking me into.<p>

As Holmes left for Scotland Yard, I exchanged the conventional bullets from my revolver with Holmes's special explosive rounds which he once made at his chemistry set out of boredom, but were very effective. I was then on my way to the inn near Wine's Lee.

This was going to be one eventful night… I arrived at the inn a bit earlier than the time Holmes had established, but he still was there, a tall figure cloaked in a brown greatcoat and a deerstalker cap of the same color, his garments of choice every time he went into the countryside, sitting at a table, deep in thoughts, with a very large travel bag by his side.

"-Ah, Watson, you're early. However, that is not a bad thing, as time is of the essence.

-Why, then did you tell me to come late?

-Because I had expected my argument with Lestrade at Scotland Yard to last a bit more.

-Argument with Lestrade?

-Yes, Watson, I had just tried and convinced our good Inspector that Haddock is innocent, and the true murderer is Thomas Ape, a low level violent psychopath who murdered his wife in a fit of rage last year, yet he was cleared of all charges due to a lack of evidence. It pleases me greatly to know that scum will finally be hanged.

-Holmes!? Are you telling me that you just sent an innocent man to the gallows in order to clear the name of a murderer, escaped prisoner and now burglar?"

Holmes chuckled.

"-Innocent, Watson? Firstly, didn't I already explain what a dangerous man this Thomas is? Second, I have already explained to you multiple times that Haddock's crimes are excusable. The things which I had read in the notes found in Mortimer's house confirm that. In fact, I wish to help Haddock.

-Pray explain, Holmes." I said rather icily.

"It will all be explained to you tonight, my dear Watson. But to satisfy your curiosity, I shall say that Daniel Marker is a man whom not even Moriarty could ever hold a candle to."

I could see that Holmes was convinced that Daniel was a dangerous man, as I could see a mixture of hatred and disgust in my friend's eyes as he spoke of him.

"-This 'Daniel', although I have found out what his real name is from reading those papers, I shall keep on calling him that.  
>He has the brain of Professor Moriarty, the ambition of Napoleon the 1st and the cruelty of Jack the Ripper. Have you got your gun?<p>

-Yes, and I've loaded it with your special rounds.

-You shouldn't have. I shouldn't have told you to take your revolver, especially since you can be a little hot-headed. Still, only draw it if I tell you so.

-What have you got in that bag, Holmes?

-Cakes for my old grandmother.

-Ha, ha! Your grandmother? Seriously, Holmes!

-Seriously, Watson, your curiosity shall be satisfied soon enough, so stop asking. I hope you're not adverse to a walk into the woods?

-I'm with you no matter what, Holmes. I would follow you to Hell and back. You can count on me.

-Good, then there's no time to waste. "

We then went back to Wine's Lee and Holmes quickly took me behind the house and sighed with relief as he saw that the footprints hadn't faded yet. We then went into the forest, but the footprints were faded away here.

"-What do we do now, Holmes? There's no more footprints and this forest stretches for miles!

-You must listen to the clues, my dear fellow, they tell a story. They tell us that he went through here.

-How do you know?

-These fibers are from expensive clothes, these ones that are snagged on the branches."

I had to stare at the tree for a full minute before I noticed some threads stuck to the twigs.

"-How on earth did you notice that, Holmes?

-Because I was looking for it."

Holmes kept on guiding me through the forest until we reached a river. He noticed something on the edge of it. It was half of a fish. He showed great interest in it.

"It is slimy, although it is very fresh, only fished about one hour ago. And what a strange smell"

He then took a bite out of the raw fish.

"-Holmes, what are you doing!?

-Ugh. Bitter.

-Are you mad!? What if it's poisonous?

-Watson, when was the last time you saw poisoned fish on the edge of a river? And anyway, there's a doctor nearby. It is slimy, bitter, fresh, and these appear to be bite marks, so… oh of course. I can be such a moron at times." He then tossed the fish aside and threw it a disgusted look.

"-What did you deduce from that fish, Holmes?

-I'd rather not say it, my dear fellow." He said grimly.

Suddenly, as we walked, he stopped me in my tracks and I could see a look of fear in his eyes.

"-What is it, Holmes?

-Shhh… you must not draw your gun. Your very life may depend on it…" He then did something strange.

He gently took his gun from his coat-pocket with two fingers only and tossed it aside. He then raised his hands in submission and said:

"We are here only to speak. We wish only good for you and your friend. Please, we have heard of what Drago Bludvist has done, what kind of a 'man' he is. We wish to help you"

I could see that he wasn't talking to me. I looked in the direction that he was looking to.

If I hadn't had nerves of steel I would have ran backwards and yelled for help.  
>I saw something in the shrubs which I could only describe as an enormous panther with green eyes the size of saucers, staring right at us…<p>

**_Well, another one done! Guess what's in the bag Holmes is carrying! As usual, please review!  
>P.S. I am planning on removing the prologue, since it wasn't that good.<em>**


	10. Chapter 10- A Dreadful Question

**Watson****:** It is hard for me to describe what was going through my mind as something which I could only assume was the beast that broke out Haddock was staring at us with those eyes.  
>My old soldier instincts were telling me to ignore Holmes's advice and empty my revolver into it's massive body. But I knew that my friend was always right and that he never took action without thinking.<br>Those frowned eyes… they were so emotional… I certainly had tried to imagine how this creature would look like but I certainly didn't expect something so… human.  
>It was lying flat on it's belly, ready to jump at us any minute, so it was rather hard to see how big it was, especially since it was partially covered by shrubbery and shadows, yet it certainly was slightly larger than a horse. However it's size hardly shocked me since during my service in India I had seen and even ridden elephants.<p>

I could see that my friend was terrified, something which Holmes never was. Despite this, he stood tall, arms still held up and tried to remain as calm as possible.

"Watson, please drop your pistol, very slowly, hold it with two fingers only."

As much as I trusted Holmes, I didn't want to be face to face with an unknown beast unarmed. But then I started thinking deeper about this. It was able to come to it's master's aid mere minutes after it's name had been called, it had smeared away it's footprints, it is intelligent.

And then it hit me: When he saw his master hanging from the noose, desperately and futilely gasping for air and kicking for ground, he must have been tempted to kill the guards. But he didn't even try that. He… it must have had a conscience.  
>Reluctantly, I slip my hand in my coat pocket. As my fingers met the wooden grip of my revolver I still was debating whether I should grip it firmly and try to threaten the beast; since it was intelligent it clearly understood the meaning of a pointed revolver, or disarm myself.<p>

'_Holmes is_ _always right, you fool! Why do you doubt him?' _a voice in my head said. Biting my lip, I gently grab my weapon with only two fingers and slowly take it out of my coat. As I held the heavy weight of the revolver with only my index and my thumb, I was thinking that in case of an attack from the beast I'd be completely defenseless.  
>The revolver falls on the ground and I follow Holmes's example and put my hands up. This staring contest between us and the… dragon couldn't have lasted more than a few dozen seconds, but it felt like hours. Those huge cat-like green eyes looked as though they could throw daggers of fire, which might even be the case, I reminded myself.<p>

Holmes eventually broke the silence.

"-We are unarmed, Haddock. Come out, please. We are not here to arrest you. Your name has been cleared, I saw to that. I am sorry, I didn't know of your true allegiance when I apprehended you. Think about it: if we had wanted to take you now, we'd have brought half of Scotland Yard with us.

-How can I trust you, Holmes?" Near the dragon, Haddock appeared. His voice was as low and as cold as he could speak, and had a very determined look about him. He still was wearing the exquisite clothes which he was wearing when we first met him.

His clothes were surprisingly clean, considering he'd been wearing them in the prison for three days and walked through the forest while wearing the outfit. Yet, it was quite wet, and it was quite unevenly washed, so he didn't dunk it in the river, what did he do with it then, I asked myself. He carried no weapon, but then again he hardly needed to, since he had a most dangerous friend by his side. The noose had left a deep, round bruise on his neck; His draconic companion had saved him in the last second.

"You can trust me, Haddock. I saw what your true reasons were behind the murder, if we can even call it that now. Please, look into my bag, or, more precisely, _your _bag."

As he said this, Holmes threw the bag towards him, which caused the dragon to snarl, making me take a few steps backwards, but to my relief, Haddock signaled it to calm down. Haddock put his hand on the bag, but retracted it instantly.

"- Holmes, please put your hand on the bag.

-Why would I do that?

-Because I know that you could be working for _him_, and this bag could be a bomb.

-You are very clever, young man, very well, I shall open it myself, if that's your wish." Holmes approached Haddock and his beastly companion and opened the case himself. I could hear a gasp coming from Haddock and even the beast's eyes widened and I saw a… smile? Good Lord, this beast is proving to be surprisingly human. Haddock seemed to be at a loss for words.

"My… my things. My flight suit, the Inferno sword, the rest of the garments that I've bought from London, my journal, my everything. Thank you, Holmes" ****

**Haddock:** I couldn't believe it. Sherlock Holmes had just went from arresting me to actually helping me. I had thought that I would never see my Inferno and flight gear ever again and that I'd have to make others.

"And, young man, you should hold onto this document" As he said this, he drew a brown envelope out of his coat. I recognized the Scotland Yard stamp on it.

"-These are my release papers?

-Excellent deduction, Haddock. Yes they are. And Lestrade's official apology. I also made sure that the good Inspector won't make any future investigations about this case, for I fear that he would then reach the same conclusion as I did, and you'd be a fugitive again.

-What did you do?

-I presented the Inspector with false evidence which convicted Thomas Ape, a maniac in every sense of the word. He is such a psychopath that he actually didn't deny killing Mortimer saying that 'he could have, but couldn't remember' "

I feel a cold lump in my stomach. Now I truly felt terrible. Now someone else will be punished for my own crimes. But I knew that Holmes was right. Unless the case is closed, I will, sooner or later, be wanted by the police again. But still, even if I was going away from England, I could now return to London at will and continue on with the mission of identifying Drago's plans and how London fits in all of it.

"-Thank you, Holmes, for clearing my name.

-No problem, young man, as for Thomas, he has committed a murder last year, killed his very own wife, therefore you cannot say that he is innocent. Speaking of which, you may call your wife here." I was baffled.

"-How did you know that I am married and that she is here?

- The fact that your friend, Toothless is his name, isn't it? Anyway, the fact that he wasn't the only one who helped you is evident from the fact that he cannot fly on his own, that much is obvious from his red tailfin attached to a pedal mechanism, made by yourself, no doubt.  
>And the rope from the noose was cut by a sharp knife. If your friend had cut it by gnawing or clawing it, then the cut wouldn't have been as smooth.<br>And the fact that your companion is your wife, that's shown by blonde hairs stuck to your outfit, which weren't present when on the outfit when I first met you, therefore they must come from a woman with which you have been, shall we say, more passionate, most likely your new wife."

Astrid came from the shrubs. I had told her to keep watch on the other clearing in case other policemen came when Toothless had spotted Holmes.

"-Miss Haddock, I presume?

-Yes, Mr. Holmes. You said that you knew about Drago Bludvist? How?

-I found these in the house of Adam Mortimer, or 'Maul', as you know him."

As he said this, Holmes took a stack of papers tied with a string from his coat-pocket and threw them to me. They were all written in my language, and some of the papers were the smooth, cream colored papers that I saw in stationery shops around the city, while others were the rough, brownish papers that were found around the remote parts of The Sea of Norway, my homeland.

"-But, I searched that place and they weren't there!

-You didn't look hard enough, young man. A secret basement, revealed by pushing a button on a candlestick, nothing special.

-I told you that you didn't look hard enough, Hiccup!" I bit my lip as Astrid said my true first name. _Here we go again_ I thought. But Holmes and Watson didn't start laughing hysterically, although Watson did crack a smile, accentuated by his moustache.

"-Ah, so that's your true first name, although your last name is real, I presume.

-Yes, Holmes. Thank you, for everything.

-I wish to help you. I have reasons to believe that Drago, while he may have left London, he certainly has established an underground network.

-Wait a minute, he is in London?

-Yes, in fact he even tried to hire me" As he said this I saw his mouth twist with disgust.

"-But the greatest thing about my job is that my clients don't choose me _I _choose _them_, so I told him off.

-He couldn't have been too happy about it, he has the temper of a rabid dog.

-Indeed, but two loaded revolvers pointed at him calmed him down, but he still frightened our poor landlady, Mrs. Hudson. He has an almost hypnotic ability of frightening people, I observed.

-But not you, Holmes!

-Absolutely, I am impossible to intimidate, if I am to say so myself. Now, let us go by the bonfire, smoke a pipe and you should tell us everything. And don't worry, after we saw your absolutely remarkable friend, we are going to be much more likely to believe your story."

And so, all five of us went by the bonfire which had by then burnt out.

"-The fire's out, that's a pity, Watson, have you got my matches?

-I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Holmes." I said smiling. Toothless lit the fire, which made Watson cringe slightly, but Holmes encouraged Watson not to be afraid.  
>I was amazed at just how quick Holmes was to trust us, but then again, I was quick to trust him too, but after all, why not? Holmes was a man of honor.<p>

I am sure Holmes had some animal whispering experience, because he took his glove off and offered his hand for Toothless to smell it, and encouraged Watson to do the same. Watson's fear virtually melted away and was replaced by curiosity and even stroked Toothless a couple of times, encouraged by me, of course.

"Incredible" he murmured. "All these years with Holmes, this takes the cake." I began my story.

"You see, gentlemen, The Sea of Norway is much larger than it appears on maps and globes. I presume that your map-makers and explorers chose to do this because of the… oddities there.  
>My home-town, Berk is full of creatures like Toothless, remarkable little things they are. We and them live together, in peace." I then sighed. "But it hasn't always been this way, see that?" I said pointing to Toothless's prosthesis.<p>

"You did that?" asked Holmes drawing smoke from his pipe.

"-How did you guess?

-I never guess, I deduce."

After that, I told them everything, about Berk's history with dragons, about how I shot down Toothless and then befriended him, how together we changed Berk for the better, our fight with the Red Death, the years inbetween the battle and… the other battle. Watson would occasionally cry "That's impossible!" But Holmes would then say "My dear chap, if that weren't true, would you be stroking a dragon right now?"

However, I avoided speaking of my mother or my father, for I thought he wouldn't understand the circumstances.

"-And now that bastard's still alive, he fell off a Bewilderbeast and he's **still alive!**

**-**Indeed." Said Holmes offering me more tobacco. "But have you told me everything?" I swallow a knot and then I said

" -Y-yes, Holmes.

-You have not." He said, his eyes suddenly becoming colder.

"How did your father die?" Toothless let out a muffled scream and looked away in embarrassment. How could Holmes have-?

"-When me and Watson first met you in the locker room of the pub, Watson made a comment about me resembling you, and how I looked like I could be your father, a comment which upset you greatly. The only reason why a comment of this manner would upset you and not amuse you, is if your father died recently.

-Aha! Yes, of course, Holmes you are a master of deduction! This is extraordinary, you are a genius!" I said rather sheepishly, futilely trying to change the subject.

"I. Ask. Again. How did he meet his unfortunate end? And please remember that it is impossible to lie to me" Holmes said, becoming impatient.

At this point, Toothless started sobbing in his own way and moved away from us, consumed by grief and guilt. My mind was desperately searching for a plausible lie, I couldn't tell him the truth, what would he then think of Toothless then, especially since they only just started getting along.

It was a question impossible to answer. 

* * *

><p><em>Sorry if this was a bit rushed and not very good, I hadn't had time for writing lately and I wanted to keep uploading.<em>

_Do you think I should make the chapters longer? In that case, I will be able to upload about once every two weeks, perhaps more during the upcoming Winter Break._


	11. Chapter 11- The Departure

**Holmes:**Of course, I had deduced that the death of Haddock's father was something which Haddock was trying to conceal; the fact that his father had died recently and that he was mourning him was obvious from his behavior in the locker room.

But, the young couple and their… pet seemed very disturbed by my completely justified inquiry. However, Toothless seemed to be much more disturbed than anyone else at this question.  
>I would definitely be writing a monograph for myself on these creatures, they are undoubtedly the second most intelligent beings on Earth, right behind Homo Sapiens.<br>Haddock was trying to form words, as he kept on looking at his winged companion with guilt. But Toothless did seem to have a behavior which was beyond simple sorrow. Again, remarkable creatures, capable of human emotion and expression.

Recognizing important evidence based on facial expressions and body language was one of the abilities which I have gained from decades as a consulting detective. The look on the poor being was more than just mourning. It was a deep feeling of guilt. Why would he feel guilt? With my abilities of deduction it couldn't have taken more than just a few seconds for me to put two and two together.

Haddock had told me in his overly-extensive summary of his life in the past five years that The Alpha had mind-controlling abilities. And since Bludvist's biggest enemy must have been Haddock's father, and he had a wish to break up the relationships between his enemies, he must have wished to complete these two 'goals' at the same time.  
>What better way to break up an alliance than to have someone kill his own ally in front of his family? My heart sank as I figured all this out, and I am only very rarely moved, my heart is mainly governed by my brain.<br>Haddock tried to speak.

"I'm sorry, Toothless, don't worry, he'll understand." His draconic companion looked at him with huge, begging eyes while he cooed with pleading moans.

"Tut, tut, Haddock. There's no need to tell me. I have deduced it." Haddock, Astrid and Toothless all gasped in astonishment and concern, especially Toothless, who had now just buried his head in the ground, covering his ears and eyes with his paws.  
>Watson had once described me as a calculating machine, as someone who if he has emotions, then he very rarely shows them. But I couldn't help but feel sorrow as I watched the poor beast. Haddock quickly went to his friend and hugged his enormous head with his arms.<p>

"-It wasn't your fault bud, it wasn't your fault. That's it, that's it, don't worry I'm sure that if he had realized that, he also realized it wasn't really you.

-You are correct, Haddock. I'm sorry, Toothless. No one should ever have to go through that.

-Go through what, Holmes?" asked Watson.

"Use my methods, my dear Watson." Watson looked at the three of them and after a while he gasped as he realized everything and then shook his head in disbelief.

"-Poor, poor beast. It wasn't him. To have to go through such a thing… to carry such a memory…

-That's not all, Doctor Watson" Haddock cut in.

"The thing is, he couldn't actually remember what he did. At least not immediatly after he was out of The Alpha's influence. A few weeks after the battle, or the war, whatever you want to call it, Toothless had a nightmare in which he remembered everything, wha-what he did while he was being controlled. And… then he… tried to…"  
>I instantly deduced what he was about to say.<p>

"No need to tell me, young man." I threw my half-smoked cigarette into the bonfire and rushed to Toothless's side, who was at this point positively weeping in shame. There were no tears, but he needn't shed any. I jerked his head upwards with both of my hands and looked him in the eye with the angriest look I could muster.

I then said "You have no right to blame yourself, and you certainly have no right to take your own life! Did you even think of what your friend's life, what everyone's life would have become!?"

The remarkable beast looked downwards in complete shame. I really am not an emotional man, but I couldn't help but feel ashamed myself at my outburst. Haddock rushed to his companion's side and once again took his head in a tight embrace. After a while, Toothless responded with a tiny lick to his chin.

"It's alright, bud. That's it, that's it. Never try that again. It wasn't you." I was quite taken aback. Toothless had already proven himself to have more emotions and feelings than most people that I have met. Haddock eventually started taking again.

"-If it hadn't been for Cloudjumper, Toothless really would have jumped off that cliff, as you have observed, he is unable to fly on his own.

-Cloudjumper? Another dragon?

-Yes." And as he said this I could see that he was somehow trying to once again avoid the subject.

"-He and Toothless are close?

-Very. Since Toothless became the new Alpha, he had been his right hand man- erm dragon, I mean. But, Holmes, what about my escape?

-What about it?

-If, I mean, when I come back to London, people will ask questions about how I had managed to pull off such a feat.

-No, they won't. Lestrade and the prison director were so concerned about the scandal that would arise should the public know about the fact that one of the country's prisons is vulnerable in such a manner, then the prison would undoubtedly be demolished, so that they paid a considerable sum of money, to which I have had a modest contribution, to all of the London newspapers to not write about this incident.

-I cannot thank you enough, Holmes.

-You needn't. It was I who put you into this mess in the first place.

-No, you just did your job. I was… am a murderer.

-Nonsense. It was self-defense. Not to mention what atrocities he might have committed had you not stopped him. But, pray, tell me, if you are now the chief, why on earth did you go on a field mission?

-Because we wished to turn him our cause, not kill him. I am the best speaker around there, and I thought that if I could have changed Eret's mind, I could change his too. I guess I was wrong…

-Why did you become an amateur fighter?

-I needed to pay my debts somehow, right? And since any other well-paying job was too time consuming in order for me to focus on unraveling Drago's operations in Europe and London, I became a fighter. First as a simple back-street brawler, but because I'm a very good fighter, a talent discovered only three years ago, I was soon remarked by the owner of the remarkable "Cane and Mitts"public house, and he offered me a luxurious room and twenty pounds per fight, more if I won, which was always.  
>Since I had a gentleman's income, I proceeded to have a gentleman's habits: I started buying expensive clothes, my favorite ones being the ones which I'm wearing right now, I smoked expensive cigars, frequented gentleman's clubs and eventually fell quite in love with London. And now that I am a free man, I will be able to visit her again, although I'm sure it will still be business that will bring me here again.<p>

-Indeed, I should think so.

-Holmes!" Astrid shouted towards me.

"Can you come over here, please?" I went towards her, still unsure as to what her intentions were.

"What is it Mi- ?" Before I could finish, she launched a brutal right cross which hit my jaw with such force that it knocked off my deerstalker and almost floored me. Her hand was stronger than that of the toughest street ruffian in London, I thought as I grunted in pain.

"Astrid!" Haddock scolded as I could hear everyone rushing to my side.

"That's for beating up and arresting my husband!" I heard her yell. Before I could respond I felt her helping me up, dusting my clothes and then gently handing me my deerstalker.

"That's for everything else." She said softly.

"Holmes, sit down! Haddock, throw me my doctor's bag!" Watson yelled. I started laughing, which made my jaw hurt even more.  
>Oh… I may be able to understand the greatest mysteries of the world, I may be able to untangle even the stealthiest of crimes, but I'll never understand women. From her punch I quickly deduced that she is well trained in martial arts, as well as a lot physically stronger than most ladies.<br>Watson quickly applied a salve-drenched compress to my cheek. He stared coldly at Astrid.

"-Watson, stop looking at her like that, I deserved it. I took worse punches, don't worry.

-Yes, but you really shouldn't have punched him! After all that he's done for you three! He even went as far as risking his skin to ask Lestrade to bury this case! Holmes could have been arrested for being an accomplice!"

I could see that Astrid was quite ashamed of herself now.

"That's alright, Miss. I deserved it." I said grinning painfully because of my jaw.

**"-**I-I'm sorry, it's…

-I observe you are also in the habit of punching your husband? You three really are a childish lot…

-H-how do you know?

-Although not visible from afar, his shoulder is somewhat swollen, I know a swell from a punch when I see one. Since he never got out of his cell while he was locked up, there was no way that he was involved in a jail-yard fight. Also, Haddock, I hate to bring up the subject again…"

I stopped for a minute, somewhat concerned for Toothless's mental state should I bring it up again. But eventually I keep on talking

"-Your father was quite a large man, wasn't he?

-Yes, he was, how did you…?

-The veins around your wrists are quite prominent, a feature received only from strong first-grade relatives. Your smaller size is owed most likely to a premature birth.

-He wasn't just the strongest man I ever knew, but also the wisest." I could see his eyes darting towards Toothless to see if he was once again prone to depression, but Toothless was too busy receiving pats from Watson. I chuckle as I watch that, as does Haddock.

"-It's quite dark now, Holmes, I think the three of us should leave.

-Indeed, it is dark enough for him to camouflage in the sky. But next time you come here, paint his tailfin black. One of the watchtower guards said that they had seen something which looked like a red scarf flapping in the sky, and I have little doubt that had he not been at that point desperate to reach the execution chamber faster, he would have looked in that direction and saw… more. Write to me once you reach home, tell me of anything which had changed there, tell me of those close to you, anything suspicious, and in the case of something truly important I shall not hesitate to find a way to get to Berk myself, although you will have to arrange… transport. The address is 221b Baker Street.

-How will I send the letters?

-The same way in which Maul, or Adam, sent and received his own letters with Drago Bludvist. Via a smaller dragon, I presume. And since I observe that dragons are highly intelligent, I think it will have little trouble finding us. And as long as you tell it- sorry, him to give the letters in darkness, by my window, no one will see him, trust me.

-Before we leave, Holmes, tell me, how was it?" he asked with a grin that stretched to his ears.

"-How was what?

-You know what I'm talking about, Holmes. The little 'snack' which Toothless left by the river." Gritting my teeth, I was feeling pretty embarrassed by this situation. I force a smile and say "Surprisingly alright."

Haddock and Astrid packed up their large knapsack into a bag attached to Toothless' saddle, and Haddock put on his flight gear, as he called it. After exchanging goodbyes and Astrid apologized once again, they took off. Even after seeing such a remarkable creature, watching them flying off like that was quite a shock. Watson and I just stood frozen for about a minute until I broke the silence.

"-Back to Baker Street, Watson.

-H-Holmes! That was… out of this world! To think that things like this exist!

-There was nothing paranormal, my dear fellow. The dragon's flight, even his fire-breathing can be explained scientifically.

-And the fact that he could understand our language and even had genuine emotions?

-They are just simply intelligent. Tomorrow morning I shall send my Irregulars to collect information about Drago, or Daniel. If he still is in London, we may be able to get him. And I shall be awaiting for Haddock's letter, which will arrive in five days according to my calculations. Now, Watson, we should get to Baker Street in time for supper. I certainly hope that Mrs. Hudson didn't cook fish…" I cringe at the idea. If we had fish for supper, I would certainly be eating at a hotel...

_Sorry, this wasn't really as good as the others.  
>And, yes, Holmes is more emotional than usual in this one.<em>

_"-How was it?  
>-Surprisingly alright." a reference to the "Sherlock" BBC Series.<br>And yes, Holmes just got smacked by Astrid XD_


	12. Chapter 12- First Preparations

_**Watson**_**: **To Sherlock's relief, it was tomato soup with crumpets, not fish that Mrs. Hudson had prepared for supper.

At the sight of Holmes's bruise, Mrs. Hudson let out a muffled scream and quickly told me to lay him on the couch. She always overreacted whenever my friend would get hurt in the slightest (which was often).  
>During supper, I was trying to talk to Holmes, about this entire ordeal. I couldn't have even suspected that such things even existed! But then again, I thought the same about… brr… "The Awakened".<p>

"-Well, Holmes, what do you think?

-These are very deep waters, my dear Watson. Right now, all I can do is wait for morning, send my Irregulars to search for men fitting the description of Drago Bludvist, and then possibly go in an 'expedition' in some of the less savory parts of London, incognito. But for tonight, I shall begin writing my monograph on these remarkable creatures. I expect that it will be one of the thickest of my monographs, right alongside '191 different types of tobacco ash' or '205 different types of finger and hand calluses'. For now, I don't have much to go on, but it will be more than enough to fill one night.

-Phew…, Holmes, that really was the most amazing thing I have ever been through.

-Indeed, my friend, who would have thought that from an ordinary backstreet murder case we'd be thrust into this? I also saw that you became quite attached to Haddock's dragon." He said chuckling.

"-What will we do now?

-Like I said, we can do little until Haddock sends us the first letter. But if fortune is on our side, we will be able to snatch some information about Drago's plans, maybe even put a dent in them.

-Or maybe even capture him, if he's still in London?"

Holmes shook his head.

"-He's not stupid, Watson, he won't let himself get caught. But, if he's established some sort of underground network in London, then we might be able to stop whatever plans he has here. But even then, we'd only scratch the surface. Still, … I think it would be a good idea to study the events that took place since Drago arrived in London, one month ago.  
>There must be a good reason for his presence here. I shall spend this night studying the newspapers from the past month, there must be a discrepancy, <em>something<em> which Bludvist has done which the newspapers have documented one way or another. Remember, while I was on Moriarty's trail, even the slightest burglary or the most ordinary of crimes had the possibility of having the mastermind behind it.

-And then?

-We shall require Haddock's assistance. Drago has without a doubt left, or if not, will leave London. The murder of his most trusted acolyte must have worried him.

-You mean that we will have to go to Be-

-I cannot say for sure, Watson, but here's some advice. Tomorrow on your way from your private clinic, buy two thick winter coats, get them pressed; we're going to need them."

That night I could not sleep. Not because I considered what we went through that night to be terrifying, but more the opposite. I had never encountered a creature as remarkable as Toothless.

It…he had genuine feelings. When I saw how sorrowful he was while being reminded of a death which wasn't even his own fault, he felt so guilty, so ashamed that he wouldn't even make eye contact.  
>What he went through… He quickly went from not even trusting me with a gun in my pocket to actually greeting me as a friend. He really was as playful as a newborn pup.<br>Which reminded me, it would take weeks to wash the drool out from his playful licks (Haddock told me that it was almost impossible to get the smell of fish out).

And I've never actually seen Holmes so touched about a tragedy which affected other people.  
>He said himself on multiple occasions that his heart was governed by his brain.<br>The look in my friend's eyes as Toothless sobbed in his own way was one which I have only very seldom seen in my normally stone-cold companion.

Sorrow. Empathy.

I could occasionally hear the faint crackle of newspapers or the sound of chemicals being boiled that night. Holmes was in a very deep study of this matter.  
>He was normally in a case only for the sake of mental gymnastics. But I confess that I've never seen him so moved, and I was convinced that his desire to help Haddock was owed to more than just 'art for the sake of art'.<p>

I will not bore my readers further by describing my full train of events that night. Bottom line is, that I only managed to fall asleep at the first crack of dawn, even though I had gotten in bed at about nine in the evening.

I tried reading a few crime novels which I had bought just the other day, but their plot was so dull compared to what we had gone through, and what we would be going through in the near future, that I put the books away and let myself grasped by melancholy and empty thoughts.

When I woke up from my short, dreamless sleep, at an ungodly hour, too, I decided to write a few words about this affair, even though I knew I'd never publish it, for people would laugh at me. I got out of my room and found Holmes still clipping newspapers, and sifting through his archive. The room was dense with tobacco smoke.  
>There were some newspaper clippings glued to a noticeboard on a wall, and red string was connecting them with either other clippings or some photographs of criminals taken at Scotland Yard.<br>On the edge of the new noticeboard sat other clippings and photographs of men I didn't recognize, just waiting to be placed into Holmes's web of deduction in the inner noticeboard, like soldiers waiting to be placed in their general's master plan.

"Watson, you're awake! Pray, call Wiggins upstairs. He's always under our window at this hour."

I knew better than to ask him to do this task himself. I called the self-proclaimed chief of the "Secret Police of Baker Street" upstairs. The boy hesitated at first, hearing not the familiar voice of my friend, but my own, but instantly sprung in as soon as he saw that it was me. The door flew open mere seconds after me calling and Wiggins went into the sitting room, as filthy and as unkempt as ever, followed by a very red-faced Mrs. Hudson who looked angrily when at the mud traces left by Wiggins' shoes, when at Sherlock, when at Wiggins himself.  
>Before Mrs. Hudson could say something, Wiggins said eagerly:<p>

"-At yo service, Mr 'olmes!

- Ah, my young friend. I need you to find several people for me. I should warn you that they are very dangerous men, particularly the big one.

-No problem, chief! The lads have all got bigger brothers, who will help us for sure! Especially me brother, since you saved 'im from th' noose!

-Excellent! But, you must be discreet! These people are: Bruce Bentcliffe, a well known ruffian for hire; Samuel Crooke, one of the most dangerous cutthroats in Whitechapel; Gino Garcia, a forger and blackmailer and last, but definitely not least, a man whose very name shows his vile tendencies. Drago Bludvist, one of his aliases being Daniel Marker, the worst man that you could imagine. Here are pictures of these men, except for Drago, but there's no mistaking his appearance: He is unusually tall and muscular, even though he's a hunchback, his face is covered in scars of all shapes and sizes, particularly one which goes across his eye, his left arm is missing completely, although he will be trying to conceal it, and he has a very dark complexion, even though he's European. There will be half a guinea for each man found, and if you can tell me where Bludvist is, five guineas."

The boy's eyes widened and his mouth went half agape.

"Blimey! Mr. 'olmes! Five whole guineas! Don't worry Mr. 'olmes, I'll find those…"

The boy then let loose a string of curses which would have put a drunken sailor to shame. He then stopped and looked insistently at Sherlock.

"-What is it, Wiggins?

-Who punched you in the face, guv?

-That's enough, Wiggins! Now hop to the job I gave you!" said Holmes on a rather irritated tone, and I could see him blushing slightly. Wiggins ran out while Mrs. Hudson held her broom in a white knuckled grip, just short of hitting the boy. After our breakfast I went to my private clinic while Holmes went back to his 'web'.

When I returned, I did as Holmes asked and bought two thick winter equipment sets from a traveler's shop. I had found Holmes in exactly the same position as I had left him that morning, the only difference in the room now being that the smoke was thicker and the smell was simply choking.

I enjoyed a bit of good tobacco as much as any man, but this was just too much! I opened the window to let the smoke out, rang for a cup of tea and then tried to talk to Holmes.

"-I really hope those children don't get in trouble with those brutes.

-Don't worry, Watson, I'm expecting answers in about… seven seconds."

Before I could ask the meaning of this statement, Wiggins rushed into the room, just short of colliding with Mrs. Hudson who was bringing in the tea.

"-Mr. 'olmes! We've found 'em!

-Well done, Wiggins!

-Bruce Bentcliffe rents out a small dump of a room on Downing Street, but spends all his time at the 'Punch Bowl' pub, a real dump that one, where he does arm-wrestles and bare-knuckle fights for money. But he's also receiving jobs. If one month ago he rarely left that rat-hole of a pub, he now occasionally hops into a real fancy black hansom. We ain't never been able to see where he goes after that.

Samuel Crooke was a bit tougher to find. But we've found him at the docks. He seems to be waitin' for somethin', cause he barely gets out of his room at the 'Drunken Mermaid' pub and he's sometimes lookin' at the registers of ships that are to come. And just like Bentcliffe, he sometimes hops into the same black hansom and goes missing the whole night.

As for the Italian fella, Garcia, he's still staying at his 'office' at Buck's Row, receiving packages from a shabby looking man, but we couldn't see his face, cause it was all covered up with a black scarf. He was tallish. Not as tall as you, Mr. 'olmes, but a bit taller than Dr. Watson.  
>This scarf-wearing fella leaves the package on the doorstep, but we couldn't see what was in it, cause Garcia took it the second the man left.<p>

We tried to find out what we could about that Drago fellow. We didn't turn up with much. Some of the lads who sleep around the Thames say that they saw a man like that buying a small yacht and then leaving with only a couple of hired toffs two days ago.

-Dammit! He's slipped past us! But still, he's established contacts here. Maybe even some sort of network. And I now know where his acolytes are staying.

-I'm sorry I couldn't find the big one, Mr. 'olmes."

Said Wiggins sadly, more at the thought of losing five guineas than that of missing the man.

"-Don't worry, Wiggins, you did find him. Here's your reward in full.

-God bless you, Mr. 'olmes! Me an' the lads are eating steak tonight!" After Wiggins left, Holmes went into his room.

He had stayed in his room for quite a long time. After about three hours out of his room came a fierce looking man, with a tattered cap, his face dirty from labor and fingernails chipped. I quickly grabbed my revolver and pointed it at him.  
>What had this brute done to Holmes?<br>A million possible scenarios, one more grotesque than the other raced in my head. Had that bloody savage found out about us helping Haddock and sent an assassin? Was my friend lying dead in his bed at the hand of this assassin? That thought made me sick to my stomach.

"Hold it right there, scum. Who are you and what have you done to Sherlock Holmes?" Words cannot describe the relief I felt as the man spoke in an all too familiar voice.

"-Calm down, Watson. Deep breaths. Sit down. It's me.

-Whew, what a relief! I can never get used to your disguises, Holmes!

-Thank you, Watson for your feedback! This means that I am ready to go on my 'expedition' around London!" With those words said, he went out and hailed a cab.

I will never be able to see through my friend's disguises...

Even though Sherlock was going through unsavory parts of London at all times, I confess that I had never been more worried for his person. 

* * *

><p><em>Ha! Bet you're glad I didn't kill Holmes! XD<em>

_The Baker Street Irregulars: These little guys are Sherlock's secret police. You can get more useful information from a street urchin than from a dozen Yard constables._

_And, yes, Holmes will be using his disguises extensively._


	13. Chapter 13- Sherlock's 'Expedition'

**Holmes:** I first went at Bruce Bentcliffe's location.  
>I've had some 'business' with him before, and he even used to be a low level member of Moriarty's gang, but was never accused due to lack of evidence. Even though I have encountered Bruce before, he wouldn't recognize me. My disguise was good enough to fool Watson, who sees me every day, not to mention that Bentcliffe never was the sharpest tool in the shed.<p>

The plan was to get Bentcliffe to tell me something about Drago's plans and his part in it. Considering that he is not very smart, nor very loyal, it was unlikely that it would be very challenging. I got out of the cab and paid the coachman. I first went to his apartment on Downing Street. Since he spent all his time either at the Punch Bowl or 'working', then he wouldn't be home at that hour.  
>Upon seeing his door I realized that he was worried about something. He had caught a small piece of paper in between the door and the frame, so that if someone opened the door while he was out, he would see it.<p>

I take out one of my lockpicks and insert it into the door. Hmm… he changed the ordinary lock with a complicated German lock. Still, it was fairly simple to pick, because when you put a complex lock on a simple door, it affects it's usefulness. The small room reeked of tobacco and cheap alcohol. Dust was literaly hanging in the air and food, plates, blankets and a mattress were scattered untidily all over this rat-hole.

Since he isn't too bright, he must have hidden whatever he has to hide in a relatively simple place, almost certainly his home. In case he had to run away from his home, he would want to be able to quickly grab his secret and run; therefore it is an easy to reach place. Not inside a safe: safes are expensive and take time to open. Of course! The floorboards! I carefully step all over the small room until I hear a hollow spot.

I take out my pocketknife and use it as a prop to take out the floorboards. At first glance there is nothing hidden but opium balls. He was known to be an opium addict. No, this cannot be it. There is more that he wanted to hide than his drug stash. I take out the bowl of opium and set it aside. There is nothing else. I groan in frustration.  
>There is no way I can completely search his dump; he would then realize that he has been discovered, and then the game was up. But then I notice something: as a man with some modest knowledge of botany, I notice that some of the balls did not seem natural. I take them out. I pry them open with my fingernails and presto!<p>

Papers crumpled up inside the balls! I straighten them out and look on them. They are about some extortion jobs… They are telling Bruce to extort a pawnbroker, a journalist and even a coachman. Aha… to hire them! And if they refuse, coerce and intimidate them into agreeing to help…  
>The coachman job is crossed off the list, therefore the coachman has agreed to help Drago… maybe the mysterious black hansom is being driven by this coachman.<p>

Sebastian White is the name of the coachman. I get out of his apartment, pleased at having found out all of this. I carefully slip the small piece of paper back in between the door and the frame and after making sure that there was nothing that would have made him think that his house had been looted, I go to the Punch Bowl. The pub was quite close to his home. I look into my reflection in a water poodle. I definitely didn't look like myself.

The thick black beard, the shabby cap, the cheap old clothes and the fake shoulders made me look more like a street ruffian than a gentleman. And Bruce would, hopefully, not recognize me. I enter the filthy pub, where the excited yells, talentless bards singing lively music and sound of blows could only mean one thing: a fight.  
>I ignore the two large goons fighting in the middle, as I notice Bentcliffe sitting at his usual table, waiting for an arm-wrestling challenge. Bentcliffe was a man in his thirties, yet his ugly, gorilla-like traits made him look no less than forty.<p>

He was wearing new, but very cheap clothes, already slightly stained from the London mud. Before talking to him, I deduce what I can: He's still a heavy smoker, still a heavy drinker, still smokes opium. The mud on his shoes suggest that he hasn't went outside of Whitechapel for some time. He's had his nose broken twice and one of his eyes is swollen, therefore he has been in at least two particularly vicious fights this week. He now had a watch, stolen undoubtedly, since it had it's chain ripped.

I sit down at his table and I ask rudely with a thick Scottish accent:

"-Hullo, there! Arr ya Bruce?

-Who's askin'?

-I heard all 'bout the arm-wrestlin' here. You look like the strong sort, and I'm up for it."

He couldn't help but crack a smile as he saw my size; although I was wearing shoulder pads, and I was a whole two inches taller, he still looked much stronger.

"-Alright, then, if you want to lose your money, that's fine with me. I start at ten shillings.

-Suits me."

Some people were already gathered around us and instantly bet on Bruce; he was very seldom defeated in strength tests. Although I am myself much stronger than I seem, I wouldn't have stood a chance in arm-wrestling against a beast like Bruce.  
>However, arm-wrestling is much more than a battle of raw strength.<p>

During my studies of Baritsu, I also learned multiple grappling, and restraining techniques, which allowed me to hold my hand perfectly stiff. I clasp my hand on Bruce's oversized palm and I instantly concentrate to stiffen it. He tries for several seconds to put me down in just one strong push, but he wasn't able to move my hand more than a few inches.  
>I instantly calculate when he ran out of stamina, and I then push his now limp hand. Although he ran out of breath, his herculean strength made him resist it. While he certainly had the strength advantage he knew nothing of techniques like twists and hand positioning. After some more struggle, he eventually succumbs, and my hand slams his own against the table.<br>Some people gasped in both shock and anger. They had all bet on Bentcliffe, and now he lost. He looks at me with narrow eyes, a look that could intimidate even the strongest of men, something which made him very successful as a street ruffian.

"-You were lucky! I wasn't focused! You cheated!

-Bollocks! Hand over me ten shillings!

-Tell ya what! The fight between Dredger and Foley is over. Whaddya say we do some fisticuffs? Double or quits.

-Fine by me."

This would prove to be even easier than the arm-wrestling. My vast knowledge of boxing, baritsu, mixed martial arts, not to mention that the power of deduction is useful even in combat. I remembered that I needn't rough him up too much; I needed to get information out of him.

We remove our coats and hand them to the small, ever-smiling barman who called the customers to place bets on us. This time, some did bet on me as they had seen me putting him down in arm-wrestling. We both go to the centre, and he assumes a combat position, not at all proper, as it was imbalanced and he held both his hands upwards, leaving his chest completely exposed.

_Plan of attack: One: Incoming assault; experienced, powerful, but uncalculated, use his momentum to counter.  
>Two: He's a heavy drinker, attack liver.<br>Three: Slap ears to discombobulate.  
>Four: Knock him down with right haymaker to the left jaw.<br>In summary: incapacitated for fifteen seconds, ears ringing_

.

He lunges at me with a telegraphed right hook, which I easily dodge. He tries to charge me, but I step away at the last moment, leaving him to fall on a table, breaking it in two.  
>|He changes his strategy and throws a quick left jab. I easily block it and throw a powerful body shot into his liver, making him bend over and grunt in pain.<br>I slap his ears, leaving him dazed.  
>I hit his right jaw with a big cross, which makes him fall. He gets up, but the barman decides that since I had knocked him down, victory was mine. Bruce then talks to me.<p>

"-Good for you, I reckon. You're stronger than you look. Here's your twenty shillings.

-I'll buy you a drink." Upon hearing that he would be served booze, he almost laughs with pleasure.

"Good winner! Let's drink!"

Without him noticing, I pour some pure alcohol into his ale, which made it much stronger, and made him much more drunk. He gulps it down. Almost instantly, he starts to look drowsy. Now was the time to ask him.  
>Alcohol makes people talk even more readily than even the toughest interrogation methods<p>

"-You got a job?

-Yeah, for a Norwegian fella, Daniel Marker, his name was, I think. Told me to 'convince' some poor sods to help him out. Gave me five pounds for each one I 'convinced'

-What is this Drago- I mean Daniel, like.

-Oooh, he's a warm fella.

-Warm?

-Yeah, you don't wanna get too close to him, cause he's warm and he'll burn ya.

-Ah.

-But he's filthy rich. I don't care what he's planning, but I help him. Tonight, I'll catch a journalist called Neville and beat him into helping Mr. Marker. I'll catch him as he goes to his home on Brook Street.  
>I've also heard from my friend, Samuel Crooke ,that he's working for Daniel too. Sam's told me that he's got an assassination job somewhere near Norway.<br>Mr. Marker has sent someone to pick him up just this afternoon."

I feel a shiver down my spine. So, Samuel will have to assassinate someone. I've dealt with this assassin before, there's nothing he won't do. He was one of Moriarty's hit-men.  
>Expert in small blades, hand to hand combat and stealth. He also was a master poisoner. Outside of Colonel Moran, he was the person Moriarty always went to if he needed someone 'taken care of'.<p>

And if his contract was near Norway, it was almost certainly in Berk and his target is almost certainly…

I get up without saying a word, but Bentcliffe was so drunk from ingesting pure alcohol, that he didn't even notice it. Getting people drunk was always a good way of getting them to say secrets.  
>I was genuinely terrified at the thought of Samuel hunting down Haddock. I normally care little about my clients, but so many things depended on Haddock staying alive…<p>

The cases of "The Dancing Men" and "The Five Orange Pips" were still haunting my memory, the two cases in which I had failed to protect the life of the very men who had sought my help.  
>All I could do was pray that this won't be another case like this. The worst part is that me and Watson could not go before Haddock sent us the first letter. The time which it would take him to send the letter and then send him a reply was going to be considerable. All I could do was hope that we got to him before Samuel did…<p>

_**Watson:**_ My friend had arrived storming into his room and coming out in less than a minute fully dressed. Although he was looking as elegant as ever, especially compared to the disguise he was wearing mere minutes ago, he was very concerned.

"-What is it, Holmes?

-Pack your bags, Watson, and pack those winter coats if you don't want us to catch a cold.

-What? Already? But we don't even know how to reach Berk!

-Not yet, Watson, but I wish to pack my disguise kit, my chemistry set, enough tobacco to last me a month, part of my archives, not to mention an entire suitcase worth of revolvers, bullets and weapons, so I will need some time to pack. We cannot spare a moment. The moment Haddock's letter arrives will be the moment we set off."

I sigh. _'There goes my vacation in Dorset' _I thought.

"-I think that you will find this holiday much more exciting than going to Dorset, Watson.

-Wha-! Holmes!? Did you just… read my mind?

-No, I did not.

-Then how on Earth did you know that I was thinking about Dorset!?

-It is elementary, my dear Watson. You have packed your suitcase this morning with a woodman's coat, binoculars for bird-watching and hiking equipment.  
>And one week earlier you mentioned that one of your old college friends, Doug Teller, had sent you letter in which he said that he had bought a countryside villa in Dorset and that he welcomed you to visit him anytime you please.<br>Therefore, the suitcase you were packing was undoubtedly readied to visit your friend. Don't worry, this holiday-

-Holiday?!

-Very well, business trip, shall undoubtedly be infinitely more exciting than bird-watching in Dorset."

The next morning, the moment I stepped into the sitting room, Holmes blocked my view and said rather nervously:

"-Watson, keep Mrs. Hudson away from the sitting room!

-What? Why?

-Just do it, man! But first, fetch me a fish.

-Fish?

-Yes, fish. We have to pay the courier with something, don't we?"

He said pointing to a medium sized green lizard with an oversized head, and two leathery strips to it's back which I could only assume were wings, who had a rolled-up piece of paper tied to it's leg. 

* * *

><p><em>OK, so, here it is!<em>

_In case you don't know:_

_Baritsu: A Japanese martial arts style which Holmes is known to practice._

_Holmes's plan of attack based on deduction: A reference to the Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmes films._

_The Dancing Men and The Five Orange Pips: Classic SH stories, in which Sherlock's clients die after they seek his help_


	14. Chapter 14- The Trip Part I

_Watson:_ After seeing Toothless, a dragon the size of a cat couldn't surprise me.  
>As Holmes tried and calmed the little dragon by letting him sniff his hand, I rushed downstairs to the kitchen. After grabbing a fresh cod, I saw Mrs. Hudson going towards the sitting room.<p>

"-Mrs. Hudson, you mustn't enter!

-Dr. Watson! Why not? And what in the world are you doing with that… is that a fish?

-Yes, umm, Holmes is doing an experiment, and for your own safety I advise you not to enter the sitting room, this experiment is likely to become… flammable."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head.

"-This early in the morning he's already fiddling with those blasted chemicals? Tell him that if he burns down anything it'll be on his rent.

-I will. Now, Mrs. Hudson could you please go to James the tobacconist and tell him to send me half a crown worth of Jamaica tobacco with peppermint?

-Very well, but please don't burn anything!"

As she left I sigh in relief. We had just dodged a bullet. Of course, Holmes and I trusted Mrs. Hudson as much as we trusted each other, but I really didn't want to have to explain to our landlady every single detail of the case, as it would have taken all day to convince her that this was truth, not fiction.  
>I go back into the sitting room and place the cod on plate near the Terror (I later found out that this is what they are called) and he started eating it gratefully.<p>

Holmes took the letter and started to read it silently. I suddenly heard him gasping and when I looked at him his face turned a cadaverous white and his eyes suddenly started re-reading a certain line.

"-No. No this cannot be…

-Holmes?

-Here is a case that… didn't end as I had expected. It's entirely my fault.

-What? Do you mean that Haddock is… dead?!

-Most likely. Samuel has reached him. Someone has tried to poison his food yesterday, but he didn't eat it thanks to his winged friend's keen sense of smell, who prevented him from eating it.

-Then it means that he is safe!

-No. Samuel Crooke is an expert assassin. He won't miss a second time. Our young client has most likely died mere hours after sending this letter."

He ran a trembling hand through his hair and I swear that he looked as if he was about to start… crying? Since when is Sherlock so emotional? But instantly, his face lit up with hope.

"Wait, there's more to this letter!"

He then looked at the bottom of the paper and let out a scream of satisfaction and started gesticulating with his hands out of sheer joy while saying

"Yes, yes, he's safe!"

I looked at him baffled. Was this truly my friend who was always so calm, so capable of hiding his emotions?

"-Watson, our young client is very intelligent! He says here that he has flown with Toothless to a place which would take weeks to reach by any other means! He's safe! The only thing that Samuel can do now is wait for him to return, but then we will be with him!

-So?

-So, telegraph for a large four-wheeler cab, for we have a lot of luggage! The game, my dear Watson, is afoot!

-But how will we get to him?

-First we take a train to the city of Ipswich, then board a steamer to Norway.

-And then?

-Then we will buy a small yacht to go to a small uninhabited island, which Haddock was kind enough to mark on this map he sent along with the letter. I have some modest navigation knowledge, and this island is not that far away from the Norwegian mainland, therefore we will have little trouble finding it. We light a campfire to let Haddock know that we are there.

-And after that?

-After that, friend Watson…, I sincerely hope that you are not afraid of heights.

-Wait… Do you seriously believe that I will get on the back of a-

-Yes. It's not that bad.

-How could you know?

-How bad can it be? I mean, you've survived India, Afganistan, years of going against this world's vilest criminals and conspirators not to mention living with me as a roommate for years. What could possibly be more dangerous than living with a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to cocaine abuse?"

I couldn't help but laugh at Sherlock's self-mockery even though I knew he was only joking. Holmes then wrote a response to the letter, and sent the Terror out the window after telling it/him to take it back to The Chief of Berk and only the chief of Berk.

"Alright, my bags are already packed" I said pointing to the two suitcases by the table. Years as a soldier have made me a very quick and light packer. Some clothes, a pipe, one pound of tobacco, my service revolver together with a box of ammo, my doctor's bag, my toothbrush and a razor for shaving was usually all I needed. But I have also packed some very thick winter clothes, as Holmes had advised me to do.

"Perfect, Watson, let me take my own bags out of my room" At that point, Holmes took three ridiculously large suitcases out of his room.

"-Oh, great, Holmes. I'm sure that the dragons will just love the idea of carrying those things.

-I specifically told Haddock to bring multiple dragons to our meeting point, as I'm afraid that each of these bags weigh about nine stone, so we'll need to have more than just Toothless to carry them.

-What have you got in them?

-This one contains part of my archives of newspapers, encyclopedias, monographs and any other document which may help us.  
>This one contains part of my chemistry set.<br>This one contains my disguise kit, as well as my clothes and my two revolvers.

-And the smaller one?

-Enough tobacco to last me a month.

-You've filled up an entire suitcase only with tobacco? That would be enough to supply a tobacconist for a week!

-I said that it's enough tobacco to last me a month, Watson." He said joking, but at the same time serious as he put on his coat and deerstalker and told me to get ready.

"-Ah, wait, I forgot.

-What did you forget, Holmes?

-This." As he said this he took a grey metallic tube out of a drawer.

"My reproduction of Haddock's fire-sword, this is how I found him guilty, remember?"

He then lit it and once again swung it near the furniture. He then turned it off.

"-One of these days you'll burn the house down, Holmes.

-Did you notice anything, Watson?

-Yes, you damn nearly set fire to a desk full of flammable chemicals!

-Outside of this, what else did you notice?

-Nothing.

-I only held it for a few seconds. After that, it becomes too hot to handle. Haddock is a very intelligent young man, to have crafted such a weapon. I shall ask him to show me his blueprints of this weapon, so that I may improve my own." It was a rarity for Holmes to compliment someone else's intelligence, and even more of a rarity to ask for help from someone else.

"-Let us go now! Samuel Crooke is either in or very close to Berk. We get him, we might manage to get some information about him. Let us go now, Watson, surely you don't want to miss the opportunity to take part in such a singular case!

-Of course, my friend!" I seriously do not know why I keep on letting Holmes drag me into his adventures. I always followed him whenever he had a case, but this was different! Usually, a case was within London. Now, we will go to a place which doesn't even appear on the map, on creatures that aren't even supposed to exist, for an undetermined amount of time.  
>Yet at the same time I felt like there was no greater act of treason I could commit against the man whom has been more of a brother to me than my real brother ever has been than letting him go against Drago Bludvist alone.<p>

I then noticed something shiny dangling from his watch-chain. At first I thought that it was the usual silver sovereign which Irene Adler had given him during the case which I had dubbed "A Scandal in Bohemia", but it was black.

"-Holmes what is that?

-I'll leave you to your deductions." he said.

I instantly realized that he had attached one of Toothless's scales to his watch-chain! This case really was making his emotions emerge like they only rarely do. We informed Mrs. Hudson of our departure, telling her only that we are going for a case in Norway and Holmes told her that we'd probably be gone for any amount of time between a few weeks and a month. We first stopped by my clinic in order for me to ask a favor from Richard Moore, a general practitioner himself.

I asked him to look after my clinic while I was away, as I very often looked after his own clinic while he was traveling to see patients in the countryside. He instantly accepted, especially with my promise that I would let him keep half my profits while he was in charge.  
>The train ride to Ipswich had been pretty uneventful, with Holmes not doing much other than puffing his pipe and writing his monograph on dragons, despite his lack of knowledge about them.<p>

The two-day steamer ride to Norway was pretty calm, except for the occasional gust of freezing wind. I personally really liked the sea-wind, and although being a soldier in India and Afganistan have made me tolerate scorching hot better than freezing cold, I did enjoy a cool breeze.  
>I spent most of my time on deck chatting with tourists or at the poker and roulette tables, as I still haven't kicked my gambling vice. Holmes was just sitting in his cabin, deep in thoughts and tobacco smoke. When the steward first brought him breakfast, he nearly dropped his tray, for he thought there was a fire in his cabin!<p>

Upon our arrival in the Norwegian city of Haugesund, Holmes wanted to hear nothing of staying overnight, visiting the city, or even having lunch in one of the lovely wooden hotels. Instead, he just bought some supplies from one of the harbour shops and then bought a small yacht from a retired fisherman who was hanging out in one of the pubs. The yacht itself was still sturdy, despite years of heavy use. Without delay, Holmes loaded our bags and our supplies onto the boat and set sail for the small island known as Fjoorda.  
>The trip was pretty quiet, considering that the Sea of Norway is known for it's choppy and stormy waters. I didn't know that Sherlock was a decent seaman, but then again there are few things that he isn't good at.<br>It didn't take more than six hours to get to the island. It was a small island. It wouldn't have taken one more than twenty minutes to walk all the way across it, but it was quite impressive.  
>There was a very small forest of young trees in the centre of it, with a hill overlooking the beach and the forest and a very beautiful pinkish sunset, which I knew would probably be turned into an aurora borealis by midnight.<p>

A gust of stabbing wind just went through me and I tucked into my winter coat. I certainly hoped we wouldn't be forced to stay in such a cold climate for long. But Holmes seemed to be very comfortable in his thin dark green coat and deerstalker, as he never did seem to be affected by the weather. Holmes and I dragged our bags to the top of the hill and he lit a campfire with his reproduction of the fire-sword. It was going to be dark soon. We passed the time by smoking or roasting some food which he'd bought from the town.

"-Holmes, I still don't understand one thing.

-What?

-If Berk is around Norway and those letters that you found had elements of Old Norwegian, then how come they speak English?

-Do you remember what I said when I had analysed those letters, Watson? It had elements of Old Norwegian and Old English. I also deduced that it was phonetically identical to English. If you had read the 'True History of England' by Alfred Carruthers, then you would have seen that shortly after The First Crusade, a small town east of London simply became deserted overnight. They in fact just left to colonise the Far North.

While they obviously did not succeed, they mingled with the inhabitants of The Mysterious North, therefore establishing this language. Oh, and Watson, it goes without saying, but keep your revolver in your pocket.

-Of course I will! I won't be surprised, I already saw Toothless, I even played with him a little!

-I'm not talking about Toothless. There will be other dragons, and I expect them to be big, and as a former soldier you are bit '_shoot first, ask questions_ _later_'-ish.

-And you are sure that Haddock is still alive?

-The window of time between him sending the letter and then hiding with Toothless in a spot which is inaccessible without flying was a very small one, as he was aware of the danger. And he was without a doubt guarded during that time. But it still is a possibility. Slim and very grim to think about, but a possibility nonetheless…" he said with a concerned face.

"-And how do you expect to put a stop to Drago's plans, whatever they are? I mean, he's established quite a network in London, and maybe even other cities, and yet he's still in the far reaches of The Sea of Norway.

-Data, data, data, Watson. I cannot make bricks without clay. However I expect to have plenty to work with once we reach Berk…" Eventually the sun had set completely and there was nothing but a small string of orange left above the ocean and the meagre bonfire that was keeping illumination.

"-Are you sure that this was the day that he comes to pick us up?

-Yes, he was the one who suggested the date, March the 1st.

-And this is the right island?

-Yes, he described to me in detail, as well as marking it on the map.

-Well, I sure hope they'll come soon…

-Be careful what you wish for, or have you forgotten the means of transportation by which we will get there?

-Oh, good Lord… Can't we just sail there? I mean, how hard can it be?

-Firstly, I have no maps which lead me to Berk. Secondly, the seas around there are so choppy that we would need a veritable floating fortress to pass them, not that toothpick of a yacht. Thirdly, flying is quicker. And fourthly, that would be futile as they will be with us in approximately two minutes and seven seconds.

-How do you know that?" I asked.

He smiled, fixed his deerstalker, and pointed to three dots in the sky, one larger than the other. At first glance it seemed like nothing more than a small flock of traveling birds. But as they approached, it became clear that they were not birds…

"-Hah! There's a sight that only a few days ago would have frozen my blood!

-I think it still will, my dear Watson. Prepare yourself. Get the bags ready, and mind your manners." 

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for the delay, got held up.<em>

_Not much happens in this chapter, I know, but the next chapters will more than make up for this ;)_

_In case you don't know:_

_Watson's gambling addiction: In Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes_, _Watson has a gambling vice_

_Berk's history: Just something I came up with to explain why they speak English, as it would have taken Sherlock and Watson way too much to learn another language, so I just made this up, sorry!_

_And yes, Holmes has just complimented someone else's intelligence_


	15. Chapter 15- The Trip II- Grief

_**Merry Christmas to all!**_

_I should warn you that there is some grief in this chapter. Like really, really sad stuff._

_You have been warned._

_My first hand at writing a bit of tragedy, so tell me how it worked out. (Don't worry, Hiccup's alive ;) )_

_Sorry for the pain._

**_Haddock_**:

"There they are!" I yelled pointing to the orange dot in the semi-darkness, which I knew had to be a bonfire, just like I knew that the two silhouettes that stood by it had to be Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. Mom, however, was concerned.

"-Are you sure it's them, Hiccup? You know that if it's anyone else, and they see us…

-No, it has to be them. Sherlock gave me his word that he'd be here today.

-What if he got the wrong island? It could be just tourists, you know…

-Sherlock Holmes is _never_ wrong. Trust me.

-Speaking of trust. Are you sure that we can trust this detective and the doctor?

-With my life, mom. He gave us information about Drago, which proved to be legit, and the information already helped us save some dragons, returned my flight gear and Inferno, and cleared my name.

-He beat you up and arrested you!" said mom in a rather cold and scolding tone which only a mother could muster.

"He had no idea who I was! He was only doing his job, which is a noble one, by the way."

I then breathe deeply and feeling shame welling up in my chest.

"He only did his duty. He arrested a murderer…"

Mother then looked slightly ashamed of making me remind myself of doing that dreadful deed.

"-Hiccup… Son… You had no choice. Men who kill without reason cannot be reasoned with.

-Still… I could have been a bit more diplomatic with Maul.

-Are we going to hover and chit-chat here all day, or are going down to pick up the only two men who can help us?" Astrid cut in.

"Right… Come on, Cloudjumper! Slowly… Over there,!"

We all landed about fifty yards from Holmes and Watson. Mother looked at them carefully, and after seeing that neither of them panicked, (although Watson did take a few steps backwards, his hand instinctively in his coat-pocket, he instantly calmed when Holmes signaled him to stay put), we all dismounted and went towards them. Holmes went towards us first and looked rather relieved to see me.

"Good evening, Haddock." He said shaking my hand.

"Good to see you again, Astrid. My jaw still hurts when I speak, by the way." He said laughing.

"And your mother, I presume?" he concluded gently shaking her hand.

"-Yes, I am his mother, Mr. Holmes. How did you guess?

-I never guess. Same eyes, same shape of the nose, same shape of the ears. All of these features combined result to the fact that you are a first grade relative of him. Which makes you by necessity either an older sister or his mother. Since he has not mentioned a sister to me, this makes you by simple process of elimination, his mother.

-Indeed, Mr. Holmes! You have already met Toothless. This is my loyal dragon, Cloudjumper, and Astrid's Nadder, Stormfly.

-And I am Doctor John Hamish Watson." Said Watson, finally looking confident.  
>Holmes ungloved his hand and gave it to Cloudjumper and Stormfly respectively to sniff it. Mom looked at the scene with a mix of surprise and pride.<p>

"-You are already good with dragons, Mr. Holmes!

-Indeed. Watson, come here, they won't bite. Well, only if you're stupid enough to draw your gun…" As Watson started going towards Cloudjumper and Stormfly, Holmes began to speak to us.

"-It's a relief to see you alive, young man.

-Thank you, Holmes.

-Oh… Mr. Holmes, if it weren't for Toothless, my son would have…" As she said this mom nearly began to cry. I remembered that when I had told her of this, she said that she wouldn't have been able to cope with losing me again.

"-Indeed. Exactly how did this happen? You were a little vague in your letter.

-Well, the day after I arrived home I got a bit of spare time and decided to fly out with Toothless, since I have been missing for over a month. When we decided to land a bit to rest, I got some food out of my knapsack. I noticed an apple among the other pieces of food, and decided to eat it. But before I could take a bite, Toothless knocked it out of my hands and made a terrified coo. I instantly realized what was going on. It's a good thing dragons have such a good sense of smell.

-I hope you have kept the apple. A chemical analysis will tell us exactly what type of poison was used.

-I thought of throwing it away, but then I remembered that you can draw the most important conclusions from the tiniest of clues, so I stored it away in a locked icebox.

-You have done wisely. And I hope that you enjoyed the little vacation you have had with Toothless while dodging Samuel Crooke.

-Who?

-The assassin who was sent after you. While you were going back home, I had deduced that Drago had hired Samuel Crooke, Bruce Bentcliffe and Gino Garcia, each of them career criminals, and they even used to work for Professor Moriarty. Out of all of them, Bruce is the weakest link. I got him drunk and he told me that Samuel went with Drago, or 'Daniel' as is his alias, to somewhere near Norway in order for Crooke to carry out an assassination job. I then deduced that the target was almost certainly you. May I look at Cloudjumper, Miss Haddock?

-Please, call me Valka. And yes, certainly."

Holmes then went to Cloudjumper, whom had curled up behind Mom, Astrid and myself by now. Holmes literally looked at the Stormcutter with his magnifying glass.  
>If Cloudjumper had eyebrows, he would have raised one, but instead, he just tilted his head. Holmes seemed particularly interested in his claws.<br>After about twenty minutes of his strangely meticulous search, in which he even climbed on his back, Holmes thanked Cloudjumper by patting him and then went to me and mom with a rather annoyed face.

"-Haddock, why did you not tell me?

-Tell you what, Holmes?

-If you are my client, you should trust me with everything. You know that hiding information from me is futile. You saw how easily I found out the truth about your father's death, and I perfectly understood the circumstances, and now you don't give me vital information, simply because you think that I won't understand the circumstances. About your mother…"

I feel a cold knot in my chest. Now I've probably lost the trust of the one man who can help me.

"-I-I'm sorry Holmes, I'll tell you everything-

-No, merely correct me if I'm wrong. Twenty years ago, only months after your premature birth, your mother was carried away by Cloudjumper to the Alpha's sanctuary. She, like you, was doubtful that dragons truly were the killing machines that the Vikings thought they were.  
>During a dragon attack, Cloudjumper entered the chief's house and only thought to… play with you and accidentally scratched you on the chin, hence the small scar which matches Cloudjumper's claw shape. Your mother had then received the final proof that dragons were not ferocious creatures, but your father saw things differently. He panicked, and attacked Cloudjumper.<br>Then, Cloudjumper ran off. With you, Valka. He must have thought you belonged there. I know this, because your walk-cycle is a rather strange one, one that is characteristic of people whom have spent years in the wild.  
>Your complexion is so pale, and you seem to know so much about dragons, that it must be that you have been riding dragons for at least twenty years, which would be impossible, since the Great Peace between Vikings and dragons only began five years ago.<br>Therefore, this is the only plausible theory. You rejoined along with your son, who found you by a feat of luck while flying towards Drago, hoping to reason with him.  
>You recognized him by the scar on his chin. Now, the only mystery that remains is, why did you chose to hide this from me in the first place?"<p>

Mother listened and I listened to Holmes's explanation with both shock and awe. I already knew that he was a genius, but being able to deduce all of this mere minutes after seeing my mother and Cloudjumper, was just beyond belief. Mom broke the silence.

"-I'm sorry.

-What for, Valka? If you had returned atop Cloudjumper while the Vikings were still fighting dragons, you would have most likely been branded as a traitor, probably even executed. This nearly happened to Haddock when he tried to convince them that dragons were harmless as long as they were understood.

-You understand everything, Holmes!" Mother broke out in joy and admiration, no longer using the appellative of 'Mister' .

"There are only very few things which I do not understand." Said Holmes. We all curled up around the bonfire and decided to stay the night on the island before flying back to Berk.

_**Watson: **_The more I heard about the two women, the more my admiration for them grew. To live for twenty years away from civilization, and then to have to bear watching your son's best friend being forced to kill the man you loved the most only two days after reuniting with him…

"-You know, Dr. Watson, I almost felt like Stoick dying just after the ecstasy of seeing him again was punishment for leaving him for so long. I blamed myself.

-You mustn't do that. I felt the same too. When Mary died…

-Your wife?" I felt my heart sinking into my stomach, as I was holding back tears.

Mary… and my only son, whom I could not even hold in my arms for one second…

"-Yes… A few month after I thought that Sherlock had died…. I wished for Holmes to be my child's godfather, but since I thought he was dead…  
>Anyway, as you know, I'm a doctor, and sometime during her seventh month of pregnancy, I was at my clinic. When suddenly, I received a telegram, which if you don't know, it's a sort of a faster way of sending a letter, that… she gave birth…<p>

As a doctor, I knew that the child couldn't have survived this. All I was thinking about was Mary… I went back home as quickly as I could, and exiting through the front door was my next door neighbor, a doctor himself. I instantly realized from his face that…"

I swore to myself not to break down in front of Valka, but remembering his face as he said those words, even remembering them now as I write makes me stain the paper with my tears.

"-_Watson…_

-What is it, man? For God's sake, spit it out!

-She… she... she...

-Say it already, or I'll break your legs!" he then put his short slender hands forward defensively as I raise my walking-stick.  
>I then realize that I behaved like a blackguard.<p>

"-I'm sorry, Richard. Tell me. I'm a soldier, I am not given to fainting.

-She… she didn't make it. The child, a boy, was born without a pulse.

"

_I feel my every joint turn to ice, my head feels as if it's about to split in two from the pain. The street around me spins like a carousel._

I hear Richard. "Watson? Watson? Oh, for God's sake, Ivy, brandy and vinegar, now, we must get him on the couch!"  
>I wake up on the<p>

_couch, with the sour smell of vinegar under my nostrils and the strong brandy under my lips._

Wait, I'm on the couch, this means that this whole ordeal was just a nightmare. Just a horrible nightmare.  
>But it wasn't.<p>

Richard had told me that her last words were for me. "Tell John… That our son's name is… John Sherlock Harry Watson.

_One name for him, the other two for either of his two dead brothers. I know that is what he would've named him."_

I don't remember anything else from that dreadful day. Half because I have repressed it, half because afterwards I got so drunk, I couldn't remember a thing. I should mention that I am far from a drunkard, but I needed to be transported to another dimension, for I feared that if I didn't put alcohol in myself, I would break down and put a bullet in myself instead.

I had lost three halves of myself in just a few months. Sherlock Holmes, the man who had been like a brother to me, and now my Mary, and… my stillborn son, John Sherlock Harry Watson.

All of them, my fault. I left Holmes alone at Reichenbach, his death was my fault.

I left Mary when I knew that she was having complications. Three Halves… My life… gone. My fault.

Until…

"Holmes!? Is that you? Could it be that you're alive? Could you have gotten out of that awful chasm?"

In the short story I had dubbed "The Empty House", I only very scarcely spoke of my reunion with Holmes. Partly because I was slightly ashamed of myself. I couldn't do anything but literally cry on my friend's shoulder while lightly punching him to make sure that he wasn't a spirit. I should have perhaps been angry with him for leaving me for two years, but I didn't want to be mad at him. I had just gotten one half of myself back after I had thrown it away. I wouldn't throw it away again. But my other two halves are lost forever…

Mary...

My train of somber thoughts is broken by Holmes's tobacco-scented hand on my shoulder and Toothless gently nuzzling me while making a mournful coo.  
>I then realize that I had broken down in front of them. I turn to Valka.<p>

"-I-I'm sorry.

-No, Dr. Watson. It's alright. I still cry every time I think about Stoick…"

Holmes set out the sleeping bags near the bonfire.

"Let's to bed. We shall be heading to Berk first thing in the morning"

I lay down on a sleeping bag next to Toothless who had curled up into a ball like an overgrown cat. I still couldn't get over how graceful and beautiful these creatures can be.  
>He comforted me during my hours of grief. He has already proven to me to be more human than most people that I have met. I close my eyes and hope for sleep to come. It does eventually come.<p>

Mary…

Suddenly, I'm awoken from my sleep by a sharp sound. Was that a scream? I grab my revolver and look around.  
>I lower it when I see that Haddock was breathing heavily, his mother, Astrid and Toothless near him.<p>

"-Is everything alright, my young man?

-Yes, Watson. It's alright, I'm in no need of medical attention doctor. Just a dream."

_**Haddock:**_ No. Not a dream. A nightmare. A dreadful, dreadful nightmare.

I have had this sort of dream before, but tonight it was so real, so vivid, and even more dreadful. I was near The Sanctuary again. The White Alpha had just been slain by Drago's Bewilderbeast. Good dragons under the control of bad men, do evil things.

"In the face of it, you are nothing!"

Toothless shakes his every joint and screeches, trying futilely to escape the influence.

No.

This time it will be different. I feel my Inferno sword in my hilt. If I kill Drago, maybe the influence breaks. Slim chance, but it's my only chance. I then realize that I cannot move. I am tied to something. To a pole. Toothless' pupils turn into slits as his mind and his feelings are cruelly taken away from him.

"Holmes! Help us!" I hear someone crying. I look to my left and Watson is tied to the same pole, within breathing distance of myself. Drago just looks at us laughing with that awful, menacing grin. Suddenly, I hear a crunching sound and Drago nearly falls over. Holmes is standing behind him in a boxing stance, his right fist bloody, and I realize that he had just punched Drago, hard.

Drago snarls louder than even The Alpha ever could and lunges at the much smaller man.  
>Holmes dodges him, while sweeping his legs.<p>

This move would have normally been enough to knock someone down, but not a behemoth like Drago. Drago swings his dreadful prosthesis arm at Holmes.

Sherlock tries to counter, but Drago's arm was so big, that it covered too much ground. Holmes goes down, blood gushing out of the right side of his head. Drago turns back, certain that he had won, as he keeps on watching Toothless inching his way towards us, controlled by the new Alpha. I try to break free from the chains, but they're too strong, even a rope would be able to immobilize me, not to mention steel chains.

"Holmes, I beg of you!" Watson pleads. Suddenly I hear a snarl of rage and I see Holmes hanging behind Drago, choking him from behind.

Ironically, it was now Drago the one who was being held in an inescapable chokehold. Drago tries to catch Sherlock from behind, but the detective tightens his grip on his bull-like neck so much, that Drago falls down on his knees.

With a cat-like reaction, Holmes wastes no time, and hits Drago in the head with a skillful roundhouse kick to his temple. The blasted warlord falls down.

Not even the strongest of men can resist a direct hit to the side of the head, especially since Holmes knows exactly what pressure points to hit in order to knock someone out.

I learned that on my own skin.

Holmes runs towards us, bruised and beaten, but his eyes, cold like steel, his lips pursed into a tight white line. He sees that Toothless was being controlled. Every scenario had already crossed his brilliant mind. He puts his hand into Watson's coat-pocket and retracts his friend's revolver. He shoots Drago's unconscious body in the head.  
>He probably thought that with his master dead, the Bewilderbeast will break his influence over Toothless.<br>But he didn't. Toothless was still being controlled.

Holmes snarls in frustration and looks at Toothless, who was now only a couple of feet from us. He puts himself in-between us and Toothless and just stood there.

No. Holmes cannot die like my father. He can't. I have to stop this.

"-Holmes! No! There has to be another way! -

You are correct. There _is_ another way." He said grimly and full of regret.

He then pointed his gun at Toothless.

NOOOO!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It was then that I woke up.  
>For months, nearly every night, I have had the same dream, with some slight variations, but the place and Toothless being mind-controlled <em>never<em> changed in that dreadful nightmare.

But now, at least, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson will help me put Drago in the ground for good.

Holmes himself once said to me "During my career, I have dealt with psychopaths, professional criminals, serial killers, rapists, conspirators, not to mention Professor James Moriarty, who is, or rather was, in a league of his own. None have ever turned my stomach the way Drago Bludvist has."

* * *

><p><em>Longest chapter yet!<em>

Sorry for all the pain, but sometimes a little tragedy is necessary. :(

Merry Christmas!


	16. Chapter 16- The Trip III- The Arrival

_**Haddock:**_ I woke up the next morning after a restless sleep. To be reminded of that day again…

Never had I felt so much pain and so much joy in the course of just a few days… On one hand, that was the day I had found out my mother is alive and well, and learned so much from each other in the course of only a few days- I felt reborn.

On the other… I cannot even say what hurt me the most: my father dying because of my foolishness and cowardice (why didn't I at least try to get out of the way? It's my fault…), seeing my best friend emotionless and controlled like that, the fact that my mother and father were separated only a couple of days after they got back together, the stress of being chief, not to mention finding out that Drago, the most despicable human being which I have ever had the displeasure of setting my eyes upon was still alive. My father died, and Drago's _still_ alive! That bastard…

Never have I felt so much resentment and disgust for one person. He says he was doing this to free humans from dragons? Ha! Even a half-wit two-year old could see through this excuse. He just wanted power. All those burned down villages, all those kidnapped dragons, all those chiefs dead at the infamous meeting at which even my father took part, all for him to be king of the world? I thought it was impossible for someone to be this cruel, this narrow-minded, this evil.

I remember that I had once asked Holmes why he thinks Drago did all this. He snorted in laughter and said "For such a clever young man you can be amazingly naïve sometimes. Bad people do bad things, because they can. They just want to prove they're better than others, or they want to achieve their goals by any means necessary, or they just take joy in watching others suffer. Those are what we commonly refer to as psychopaths, madmen, evil men, whatever. But when madness is combined with intelligence and strength… then they truly are dangerous."

I was the first one up, dawn barely cracking on the sky. I once again check on Toothless. That dream really got to me. All the dreams I had with Toothless being controlled got to me, and made me shiver in fear, concern and sorrow. But this was the first dream in which I saw Toothless die. Worst nightmare I've ever had...

_"Holmes! Please, don't!"_

_At that point, I swear I saw Holmes shiver and a tear running down his right cheek. Holmes never cried. Watson had told me that the only time Holmes had ever shown a few tears was shortly after Holmes's return. Watson told him how he felt after losing him, then Mary and his stillborn child. At that point Holmes was so sorry for not being there for his friend when he needed him the most, that he actually shed a few tears. Watson told me that he was by no means sobbing, but he caught a glimpse of the great heart that was hiding behind that great mind.  
>Back to my dream, or more rather nightmare, Holmes then still pointed his gun at Toothless, who was inching ever closer to us.<em>

"_I'm sorry, I truly, truly am, Haddock. But I'm afraid there's no other alternative. And if __**I**_ _couldn't think of any other option, then there is no other option. He was more human than most men I have had to deal with. I know he would sacrifice himself for you. I'm sorry"_

I squeeze my eyes shut, only hearing three loud bangs, and then a loud thud of a heavy body falling over. My eyes still tightly closed, I can hear a man weeping. Holmes.

The great Sherlock Holmes, was weeping. Then I wake up.

After Watson had checked on me, I somehow managed to fall back to sleep, maybe just because I held Toothless with one hand, as if I was afraid that he would leave. How could I not be, after that dream?  
>Usually after dreams that took me back to those dreadful seconds in which Toothless would have killed me, had father not sacrificed himself, I have to stay a couple of minutes away from him, as if I'm scared or angry with him, and I am, in a way.<br>But now after I saw, or rather heard, Toothless getting shot, I just wanted him to be as close as possible to me.

I decide that it's best that we all go to Berk as quickly as possible, so I start by waking Toothless.

"Hey! Waky-waky, lazybones! Come on, you'll have to carry some of our friends' bags! There's five of them, one larger than the other, and Cloudjumper and Stormfly can't carry all of them!"

He grunts lightly while pushing me away, while curling up even more into a ball. Right, maybe I'll have less trouble with Sherlock Holmes, he's always eager to even skip sleep entirely for cases. But, I was wrong. Holmes wasn't even asleep. He was scribbling something in a journal of sorts. I scoffed as I watch him. He's probably been like this all night long, yet he still looked as fresh as if he had just woken up.

"-Good morning, Holmes! Did you get any sleep?

-I did not attempt to sleep. I added information to my monograph on dragons. I believe I have made serious progress, for I already have written on four different species, the ones I came in contact with." I felt my heart lift as I saw just how interested Holmes was about dragons. Seeing him writing his own "Book of Dragons" reminded me of Fishlegs. But while Fish was always excited and nervous, Holmes was extraordinarily calm, emotionless even.

But I felt even more so, when I saw the monograph.

"-Holmes! These are very exact data! How did you manage to notice so many things in so little time? You even saw the Night Fury's ability to raise it's spine in order to make tight turns!? How did you see that? It took me five years to discover this, and even then, mom had to show me!

-Simple observation. You see but you do not observe. A simple look at the small spikes on his back and I realized that they were retractable; they moved slightly when I pulled them. This same way, I found the Nadder's ability to throw spikes from it's tail as a defensive measure. As for the Stormcutter's ability to go higher altitudes more quickly is evident from it's second pair of wings, as well as the fact that it's skin is much more humid, not from perspiration, but undoubtedly from staying slightly longer at high altitudes.

-I know I've said it a few times now, Holmes, but you are brilliant! I have no doubt that it took my mother at least a few years to notice the Night Fury's spine-lifting, and you made it out immediately!

-Simple observation." He said dismissively.

"-Shall we go now, young man?

-Well, we should first plan where to put your massive suitcases, Holmes. You're not moving in with us, you know, why did you get so much luggage?

-I am merely preparing myself for any eventuality. For example, that red one over there contains my chemistry set. It will help us to determine exactly the kind of poison that was used on the apple you nearly ate, and I have no doubt that it will help me in many other circumstances during the investigation.  
>The other two large ones, the green one contains my archives, newspaper clippings, research notes, encyclopedias, so that I may consult them anytime, should the need arise.<br>The black one contains my personal belongings, as well as my disguise kit. As for Watson's bags, don't worry, they are very light, his experiences in India and Afganistan have made him a very light packer.  
>I am afraid poor Cloudjumper shall have to carry most of them, since he's the strongest. Please tell him to be careful with my chemistry set. It's in a special suitcase with protective fibre, but still…<br>You wife's dragon can carry the remaining large bag, Toothless will carry all of the light bags. I'll go with you, Watson with Stormfly and Astrid. That should not be that much of a burden for them.

-Cloudjumper's going to hate you, you know." I said jokingly, but serious at the same time.

"-And why should I care? A lot of dangerous people hate me.

-Yes, but not fifteen-foot tall creatures that can breathe fire!

-Oh, trust me, the people that truly hate me are much more dangerous than that." He said seriously.

"-Haddock, I suggest we have a quick breakfast and then go to Berk.

-Of course. I suppose now is a good time to warn you that the flight may make you a bit sick since you're not used to it.

-I've never been sick in my life. And don't worry, neither I nor Watson are afraid of heights. Or speed. Or danger, for that matter."

The sound of sizzling eggs woke up everyone, and while the dragons went fishing, we made small talk to pass the time.

"My husband has read me some of your adventures." Said Astrid to Holmes.

"-But it does sometimes seem incredible how you can find out such important information from trifles.

-Astrid, I always say that there is nothing as important as trifles.

-I know it may sound childish, but I want to see it myself. What can you make of this?" She asked, pulling out her axe and handing it to Holmes. Holmes analyzed it with his magnifying glass for a while and then said:

"-A gift for your fifteenth anniversary, that much is evident from both the fact that it's a bit lighter, and from the exquisite carvings which make it as much of an art piece as it is a deadly weapon. The work of two blacksmiths in fact…  
>One of them is very strong, and quite meticulous, left handed. However, I think I am not mistaken when I say that his left hand is missing, and rather than learn how to use his right hand, he has developed multiple arm prosthesis.<p>

-That's Gobber." Said Astrid smiling.

"-The head blacksmith?

-Yes.

-The other blacksmith who worked on this piece: Out of training entirely, left handed himself. However, despite his strength shortcomings, he is meticulous himself, even more so than the other one. He is the one who has carved, let me translate it…, ah. 'The Steel of Valhalla, for my Valkerye'. However, since he has made this piece, he has grown and is no longer out of training, although still quite slim. And I'm looking at him right now."

He said smiling, looking straight at me. Astrid scoffed shortly looking impressed beyond words.

"-You know, Holmes, it took him years to confide to me that he was the one who made my birthday present!

-Yeah, mainly because back then I still was a scrawny little fishbone, and I didn't know how she'd respond." I added.  
>At this she punched me in the arm, quite hard.<p>

"-Astrid! What was that for?

-That's for reminding of the time I behaved like a jerk to you!" she yelled.

As usual, before I could say anything, she kissed me deeply for what couldn't have been less than a whole minute.

"That's for everything else." She said smiling.

When Toothless, Cloudjumper and Stormfly returned, we decided to set off immediately. Luckily we had fitted each of them with multiple straps and storage compartments before setting off, each of them perfectly capable of carrying a small army's worth of supplies, so a few bags weren't a problem.  
>Or at least Watson's bags weren't. Holmes insisted that he loaded his bags himself. Upon loading the chemistry set bag on Cloudjumper, he insisted that he is very careful with it.<p>

"Trust me, Cloudjumper, if one of those chemical vials breaks it will not only affect the investigation, but there is also a distinct possibility that it may blow up." Cloudjumper took the heavy load better than I had expected, but then again, Cloud is both cocky and strong, and he really didn't want to look like a heavier load was getting him down. I gave two simple leather strap-gears to Holmes and Watson.

In an instant, Holmes put it on and knew exactly how to strap himself onto Toothless' saddle.

"You'll go on Stormfly, Watson." Said Holmes.

"-Holmes, you do realize that this is very crazy?

-You knew this was going to happen, Watson. Besides, we've went on hot air balloons, so you can't say that you didn't fly before.

-Those things go at fifty miles an hour at most, Holmes!

-Yeah, well, remember when we had to climb on top of a racing express train*? It cannot be much worse. In fact I believe it can be relaxing when done right.

-The things you get me into, Holmes…

-It's what you like, friend; You were a doctor who went to war. You couldn't lead a civilian life for more than a few months before moving in with a consulting detective who constantly gets himself and those around him in dangerous situations (That's me by the way, hello!),you carry your gun wherever you go, you cannot stay in a rowdy pub for more than a few minutes without starting a fight, even your walking stick conceals a three-foot sharpened sword.

-Well, then… come on, John…, courage…" Said Watson as he reluctantly mounted Stormfly on the back-saddle. Holmes tightened his own straps.

"-Haddock, I do recommend you go a bit slower at first.

-Why? Worried for Watson?

-No, I wish to smoke my pipe. And I don't want the wind to knock the tobacco out of it."

I couldn't help but crack a laugh at this.

"Let's go bud." I said to Toothless.

_**Watson:**_ Holmes made sure that his chemistry bag was tightly strapped. Even after Haddock and Valka had strapped it with multiple buckles and ropes, Holmes still tightened it himself with some rope from the fishing boat.  
>Even though Cloudjumper only had Valka to carry, he certainly had the heaviest load: Holmes's chemistry set and his disguise kit, both of which were extremely extensive.<br>Although I no longer was afraid of touching a dragon, flying was quite a scary notion.

_Come on, John Watson, you've survived worse!'_ I said to myself. I once again made sure the straps were tight.

"I'm ready." I said to Astrid who was holding the reins in front of me. Before I knew it, we were a few metres into the air.  
>It wasn't that much of a shock, Holmes and I had to charter a hot air balloon for a couple of cases, but what did shock me was the speed and the smoothness of the ride.<br>Well, surprise would be a better word, since I am a man who is very seldom scared, and I certainly would be the last person anyone would call a coward. In just a minute, we were at least a hundred yards up and the small island was quite a long way behind.

I buttoned up the last button on my collar, and pulled my hat on my eyes, for I knew that it would be getting quite cold.  
>I have to say that this was even better than a hot air balloon. The greatest awe was when we reached cloud level. In a hot air balloon it takes a while to reach that high a level, but this way, it took less than a few minutes, and that while going slow!<br>The awe of literally touching the clouds was just as big as when I first went on a hot air balloon, even bigger I would say.

We were going at the altitude of a balloon and with the speed of an express train.  
>However, while I must have done almost nothing but marvel at the awe of the whole thing with my mouth agape, Holmes was just behind Hiccup Haddock, leaning against my bags, puffing his pipe as casually as if he were in a London carriage.<p>

"Feels good, doesn't it, doctor?" asked Haddock.

"-Very good, young man. It's quite the adrenaline rush!

-And this is going slow! Just you see us when Toothless and I do stunts!

-I can't imagine it!

-Please, silence I'm trying to concentrate." Said Holmes, while Toothless seemed to be leaving smoke behind like a locomotive thanks to Sherlock's pipe smoking.

_**Haddock:**_ We reached Berk at about three in the afternoon (I was able to keep track of time quite good thanks to the pocket-watch I had bought from London and set it to Berk time) and as we approached my home, we saw a few wild dragons, including some large Timberjacks, at which Watson couldn't help but say "Whoa!"

Holmes hardly said anything throughout the trip. He occasionally looked at the scenery or at a few passing dragons, but his stone-cold face betrayed no emotion, yet I could almost see the gears turning behind those distant green eyes and the dark-green deerstalker.

We decided to land very close to the Chief's house (or my house, I guess…) Eret was there to greet us.

"-Good day, Chief! Had a nice trip?

-Certainly did! These are Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson." Eret measured the two men from looks.  
>Holmes was quite thin, but very tall, nearly as tall as Eret, long in the leg, and although he looked thin, I knew that he could easily bend a knot in a steel poker*.<br>He looked quite imposing, even when close to larger men. Maybe it was just those piercing grey-green eyes which could stare daggers into the hearts of even the bravest, or soothe even the saddest (when he wanted to, of course).

Watson, on the other hand, while not as tall as his companion, was very broad in the shoulders, thick in the neck and arm, had an almost completely square chin, and quite large hands.  
>It was difficult to believe that those large hands were able to easily sew a delicate wound. In other words, he was almost Viking-like in appearance.<p>

Eret shook the hand of each of them, and introduced himself as "Eret, son of Eret" as was his custom. "

Tell, me Eret, why did you join Drago?" Asked Holmes.

Eret looked bewildered.

"-How do you know that?

-First of all, your complexion is slightly different from that of other Vikings around here, as well as your hairstyle and chin tattoos, therefore you are not from around here.  
>The scars on your hands were undoubtedly caused by hooks, the kinds used in bolas and other dragon-trapping weapons, your Chief was kind enough to show me some sketches of them.<br>Your chest is swollen, not from muscle, but a scar, without a doubt. That scar is in a certain pattern, you were tortured, when you returned empty-handed.  
>Your neck has a reddish nuance which further proves Drago's inhumanity to his own men.<br>And you certainly deserted when he decided that you were no longer of use to him.

-I-I'm speechless! It's all happened exactly as you said! You're even sharper than Fishlegs,!

-One more thing." Said Holmes rather icily.

"When I mentioned your dragon-trapping past you held your chin up; You don't regret your past, Eret." Said Holmes, his eyes looking so menacing that even Eret, one of the bravest men I've met, took a step back.

"You miss it" growled the detective menacingly.

Mom, to interrupt the conflict, showed Holmes and Watson to their rooms.  
>I felt a bit uneasy.<br>Eret, missing those days? I suppose that those were his glory days, after all, having a crew of his own, making a lot of gold from this gods-forsaken business... But Eret couldn't _truly_ miss being little more than a slave to Drago.  
>Could he? I regarded him as a good friend, and a good man, there was no way! I refused to believe that!<br>While Holmes and Watson were being led to their rooms by mom, I decided to talk to Eret about this.

"-Eret. We need to talk.

-About what?

-You know _exactly_ what! Do you really miss it?

-Of course not! OK, maybe, I was a bit proud of it back then, after all, no job got you more women around you than being a dragon-wrangler. And those were some nice days, when I was away from that bastard, that is! And tell your detective to stop being so hostile!"

Before I could say another word, he stormed out of the house. There still were unknown sides to that man.

"Hiccup, come here!" Mom called me into Holmes and Watson's room with a pretty terrified face. I rush up.  
>Holmes had laid out his chemistry set and already had some chemicals bubbling. Watson had changed into his smart grey suit and hat with his cane by his side, which I knew concealed a blade, and looked as if he was going out somewhere.<br>Near the vials on the table was an apple, the very apple which nearly poisoned me.

"-This is a very powerful poison, Haddock. Poisoned apple, not very original, but effective.  
>A few drops of hydrogen peroxide brought the foreign substance to the surface.<br>I used reagents to test it. It's cyanide, a very powerful poison.

Even before it reaches your stomach, it stops your breathing, paralyzes your vocal chords to stop you from screaming, then it stops your heart and, bingo, you are dead before you hit the ground.  
>Cyanide is nearly odourless to humans, which is why only Toothless was able to detect it.<br>However, cyanide is impossible to produce around here. You can only create it in a fully equipped laboratory. Therefore, this confirms that your would-be poisoner was Samuel Crooke, as only he would be able to have access to such a poison. And he most likely still is around here.

-There are no foreigners around here, no one arrived on our docks for at least a month! And we searched around the woods for a camp, but nothing!

-I know Crooke,he does what he can to blend in, a simple disguise is not a problem for him. You must be careful."

Watson started walking towards the door.

"-Where are you going?

-A walk. I just want to see the town. I see that you've recently paved the roads.

-Yeah, I was inspired by London's roads, you know. You're going out dressed like that?

-Yes, what about it? I know what you're thinking about, and no, I am nit wearing a viking outfit!

-Alright... Just don't get into any fights!

-I wouldn't dream of it. Why would I do that?

-No reason at all. The dragon racing begins in twenty minutes if you want to attend.

-How do you know I wanted to go see that?

-Because I know you are a gambling man. And you have taken gold and silver British coins, but left the notes on the desk, therefore you are hoping that we accept any kind of coins (we do, don't worry).

-Are you turning into a young Sherlock Holmes, Haddock?

-Maybe." I said smiling.

I spent the rest of the day attending my chief duties, which I will not bore you by describing them. Bottom line is, I returned at about ten o'clock.  
>When I returned, Watson was downstairs, sipping some tea from a wooden mug and looked very happy.<br>When I approached him I saw that his right eye was swollen.

"-Oh, Thor, Watson, I told you not to get into fights!

-Hey, it was only friendly sport! I went to the pub, or 'Great Hall' as they call it, and there was a little tournament for the day… Don't worry it wasn't brutal, it was just 'one punch, you're out!'

Damn, he got me good, lucky I'm a doctor!. If you think I look bad, you ought to see Spitelout, or whatever his name was. I insisted on treating his eye myself, a good fellow, but!

Your people know how to have a good time! And I've had some lovely conversation, too, particularly with the one-armed blacksmith! And I got a bit drunk! Ha, ha!  
>Oh and the dragon racing, I bet on your wife, and she won! It was… beyond belief! This whole part of the world is beyond belief. I feel like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole!<p>

-Yeah, I didn't have time to see Astrid, you know, with all my chief duties and all." I mumbled unhappily.

"-Where's Holmes?

-He's still upstairs, I should go to bed, Haddock.

-Goodnight, Watson." I head upstairs to my room. But just as I was about to go through a hallway that led to my bedroom, I feel a hand clasping itself hard on my mouth and nose and dragging me towards someone.

_Samuel Crooke, he's come after me!_ My mind yelled.

* * *

><p><em>Whoops, another cliffhanger! XD<em>

*_In 'The Speckled Band', Holmes was able to bend a steel poker with his bare hands._

_In the Guy Ritchie SH films, Watson has a cane which conceals a blade, an army discharge gift._

_I'm basing Sherlock and Watson's characters part on Guy Ritchie's films, part on the canon, part on 'Sherlock' BBC series, and also adding a bit of my own spin._

_Shout-outs are accepted, so, don't be shy, suggest ;)  
><em>


	17. No Chapter, Just A Quick Apology, Sorry

Hi everyone!

Just wanted to say that I probably won't be able to upload in a long time, school got to me, badly :(

The seventeenth chapter is about halfway done, but I don't want to post an unfinished chapter.

Know for sure that as soon as I'm able to do so, I shall take down this 'chapter' and replace it with 'Detective vs. Assassin'

Any suggestions about what you wish to happen in my story are welcome, as I will have plenty of time to think about them.

Cheers, and sorry again.


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